Heal Me
by Gem4
Summary: Angel returns to Sunnydale, but not for the reason he thinks.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, I didn't create the mess they're in. That credit all goes to Joss Whedon g I'm just borrowing (in a strictly non-profit sense) to take a shot at putting things back on track. Lyrics and title are from "Heal Me," by Melissa Etheridge. Spoilers: "Dead Things"/"Waiting in the Wings" Rating: PG13 Author's Note: This story fits in between "The Lonely Season" and "You're the Only One." Summary: Can you "reunion?" g  
  
  
  
Heal Me  
  
By Gem  
  
  
  
Ain't it crazy For a moment there I just gave up trying But now I see You can let the light in You can begin again  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy sighed as she padded across her bedroom carpet. Another long day at work, and still more hours of patrol to go; not exactly the glamorous "adult" life she'd once imagined. But at least she'd been able to squeeze in a quick shower, with still a sliver of free time left before she needed to head out to keep the world safe for humanity. This had become the greatest of all luxuries: a few minutes of pure Buffy-time.  
  
She rubbed the back of her neck absently as she searched the pile of newspapers on her desk; she had a strange prickling sensation that wouldn't seem to go away. It almost felt like...like something it couldn't be, she reminded herself firmly. It was dry skin, nothing more, and she had to ignore it if she was going to get anything accomplished with these help- wanted ads. Provided she ever found the help-wanted ads, of course, midst the chaos that was her desk.  
  
At last she found the correct section and sat down to start her search for the perfect new job, one that didn't involve double-shifts, late nights or, hopefully, grease traps. It was all part of her fresh start: new job, a solid training regimen, night classes, working on her parenting skills and complete absence of the bleached blond undead. All salute the new Buffy, clean and celibate for two months and counting. Maybe in Slayer terms it wasn't much of a victory, but she counted every lonely night she managed to avoid the twin demons of self-pity and Spike a personal triumph.  
  
Now if she could just conquer dry skin, she fretted, her hand once again creeping up to soothe her tingling neck.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Angel stood on the doorstep, nervously shifting Connor's car seat from one hand to the other as he tried to decide how he should ring the bell. One quick ring, just as a 'hi, I'm here' thing? But what if they didn't hear it? So maybe a longer one...that they could become annoyed by; oh yeah, that would do the trick. He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat as the choices swirled in front of him, all smugly centering on the little glowing piece of plastic next to the front door.  
  
It was Connor who finally prompted his slightly shaking hand to press the bell; the baby sneezed in his sleep, just once, but it was enough to jolt his father out of his own thoughts and into the real world.  
  
Connor seemed to do that to him a lot.  
  
Once the deed was done, and Angel could hear the echo of the bell on the other side of the door, the real war of nerves began. He was committed now; he had to stay and face her, no matter how much he dreaded it. Yeah, 'dreaded' was the word, he decided. He was not looking forward to seeing her smile again, or hearing her voice softly call his name, or feeling the warmth of her skin as she brushed her fingertips against his...  
  
No, he was definitely dreading this.  
  
He heard approaching footsteps, and tried to compose himself. Tried to remind himself of why he was here. The only problem with the latter was that every single thought flew from his mind except for the knowledge that Buffy was on the other side of the door. Coming closer.  
  
To him.  
  
This very moment.  
  
On the other side of that door, now slowly swinging open.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Dawn," he said with a gulp, as the front door opened wide to reveal Buffy's little sister.  
  
"Angel," she answered in equal surprise. "What are you doing here?" Her unabashedly curious gaze traveled down the length of his arm to the car seat in his hand. "With a baby?" she added, sounding, if possible, even more shocked than he felt.  
  
"I...I came to see...is Buffy...can we come in?"  
  
She smiled as his fumbled words finally came together in a request. "Sure," she said easily, stepping back out of his way. "Come on in."  
  
Angel stepped into the Summers house, craning his neck to peer into the living room and dining room as he entered. No luck; no Buffy to be seen.  
  
"Buffy's upstairs," Dawn said quickly, unable to help seeing Angel's less- than-furtive glances around the house. Before he could answer, she flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder and yelled up the staircase, "Buffy!"  
  
"Dawn, don't..." Angel said anxiously, his hand instinctively moving to shield the baby.  
  
"Get down here!" Dawn continued, over Angel's abortive attempt to quiet her.  
  
"Wake the baby," Angel finished with a sigh as the frightened Connor began to wail.  
  
Dawn turned back to face Angel, her hand clapped over her traitorous mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said immediately, "I didn't mean to scare it. We're kind of used to yelling and screaming around here. Hellmouth, demons..." she shrugged philosophically, "you know how it goes."  
  
"It's okay," Angel muttered as he placed the car seat on the floor and squatted down to release his son from the straps that held him secure. "Connor gives back as good as he gets."  
  
"Dawn, what are you bellowing about?" Buffy called from upstairs. "And why do I hear..."  
  
The Slayer's voice trailed off as she rounded the upstairs landing and saw a hunched up, black leather clad figure in her doorway. She couldn't see the man's head, and for a moment she thought...but she knew it couldn't be him. It had to be Spike, because it couldn't be...but those shoulders, the breadth of them...that was not Spike, however much it couldn't be...  
  
"Angel?" she asked hesitantly, her steps slowing the closer she came to matching reality with fantasy.  
  
He turned around as he stood up, answering her question without a word. He couldn't have answered her if he'd tried; his attention was focused on the infant in his arms...a baby?...Angel?...to whom he was crooning.  
  
"It's all right, little one," he whispered, the words sounding hushed to all but the most curious of Slayer ears. "Daddy's here."  
  
Daddy?  
  
"Daddy?" Dawn chirped, giving substance to the question screaming through Buffy's brain. "He...she...it's really yours?"  
  
"He," Angel said, slightly affronted that there should be a doubt. "His name is Connor." He glanced at Buffy, his voice softening as he gave breath to the unthinkable. "And yes, he's my son."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Oh boy." Dawn's eyes grew wide. "I mean it's a boy, and oh boy, wait till Xander hears." She stuck out her arms towards the baby. "Can I hold him?"  
  
Buffy almost laughed at Angel's instinctive backpedaling. The Scourge of Europe was scrambling to get away from an unarmed human girl; it would have been funny if Buffy hadn't known the real person he was afraid for: his son.  
  
His son.  
  
"He's, uh, still a little upset," Angel apologized hastily, the truth of his words borne out by Connor's sobs.  
  
Buffy watched him cuddle the baby in his arms and images she hadn't allowed herself to picture in four years...images she'd lost claim to almost before she was old enough to desire them...suddenly filled her mind's eye.  
  
She'd been so young when she found out Angel couldn't have children, yet she still remembered those few fleeting daydreams she'd been allowed before his confession killed them. Angel with their child in his arms, that melting look of tenderness in his brown eyes, that soft lilt to his voice...it was exactly as she had imagined it.  
  
Except that the child in his arms tonight was no part of her.  
  
Buffy dragged herself with difficulty from the seductive depths of the past, but she realized there were limits to which her strained nerves could be stretched. An audience numbered one, two and possibly three on the list.  
  
"Dawn, go upstairs," she said softly. "Please."  
  
Dawn swiftly shifted her attention to her older sister. "But I want to hold the baby. And if you guys need to talk...maybe I can watch him?" She directed the question at Angel, though her eyes never left Buffy's frozen face.  
  
"Upstairs, Dawn." Buffy turned to Angel, still trying to quiet the frightened Connor. "Why don't we go in the living room? The lights are a little softer, and maybe he'll settle down if you can sort of rock him or something."  
  
Dawn pouted, but she sensed no chance of a bid for mercy with her eerily controlled sister. She slumped up the stairs as Angel grabbed the diaper bag and followed Buffy into the living room.  
  
A rocking chair not being an option, Angel sat on the sofa, shifting the baby to his other shoulder as he continued to stroke Connor's back and make soothing noises. Buffy sat on the sofa as well, though she took care to leave a cushion between she and her former lover. And her former lover's child.  
  
"He's beautiful," she said softly.  
  
Angel grinned, fatherly pride struggling with realism. "Thanks. I think so too." He put Connor slightly away from his body to gaze down at the small, red face of his only child. "But how can you tell right now?"  
  
"He's yours."  
  
Angel didn't know how to answer her, and Connor fortunately did not give him the opportunity. Deprived of the comfort of his father's shoulder in his hour of need, the child's cries gained in volume once again. Angel hastily pulled him in again and resumed the rhythmic stroking and crooning that had become second nature to him the past few months.  
  
Buffy watched silently, fighting the urge to take part in this moment. She didn't know where the feeling was coming from; she'd never been a real baby person until this very moment. Finally she surrendered, sliding forward on the cushion, close enough to touch the baby, and the baby's father.  
  
"Angel, he's going to make a mess of that leather coat. Why don't you let me take him so you can..." she glanced at the shirt collar poking out from under the leather, "let him cry on silk instead," she finished in disbelief. She blinked her eyes and stared. "You're wearing silk and leather to travel with a baby? Even I know that's an invitation to fashion disaster. What were you thinking?"  
  
He looked sheepishly at her over the top of Connor's head. "Could it be...no time to shop these days?" he suggested.  
  
"Okay, well, I guess that makes sense," she allowed, sharing his grin even as she felt herself drowning in it.  
  
Buffy had spent a lot of the last three years building up sufficient defenses against the quicksilver half-sad smiles that lived in her memories, but she had no proof against this new Angel and his easy grin. There was an unusual air of confidence about him; he seemed almost relaxed, even in this awkward situation, and in his eyes she saw a sly twinkle that drew her in against her will. She had to distract herself, and fast, before she dissolved into a puddle at his feet.  
  
"Look, that, umm, collar is going to crease his poor little face. Maybe we can find a blanket or something that you can wear to protect your shirt."  
  
She glanced around the room for a makeshift baby blanket, until she saw Angel's hands holding out the baby in front of her.  
  
"I'm not really worried about the shirt," he said softly, "but I would like to get my coat off."  
  
She reached out hesitantly and took the baby, now hiccoughing quietly, into her arms. Connor, still groggy from the long car trip, burrowed into her shoulder and started to relax.  
  
"He likes you," Angel said.  
  
Suddenly that seemed to be the most important thing in the world. Angel couldn't help but smile at the picture they made as he shrugged off his coat and resumed his seat; they just looked so...right...together. He didn't bother to analyze the thought; for once he simply enjoyed.  
  
Buffy wanted to make small talk about the baby, about Connor. She wanted to ask when he was born, and how much he weighed and if he was hooked on the Teletubbies yet. But the only question she could move through her frozen brain was far more complicated.  
  
"How?"  
  
Angel looked away, looked down at his hands, looked everywhere but Buffy's face. "There was...there is...a prophecy," he answered haltingly.  
  
"That's not what I meant."  
  
He finally looked her in the eye. "I know."  
  
"Angel."  
  
He sighed as his eyes traveled once more to Connor's small head, nestled against Buffy's breast.  
  
"There's a lot of things we need to talk about, Buffy, and Connor is only one of them." He swallowed nervously. "If you don't mind, I'd like to work my way up to him, because I'm pretty sure what I have to say is going to make you mad, and I'd like to get some other things cleared up first before you bring out the handcuffs and stakes."  
  
It was Buffy's turn to look away. He didn't know...he couldn't know. And he wouldn't know.  
  
"I think," she said slowly, forcing a display of calm she did not feel, "we should do this alphabetically." She made herself face Angel again. "Last time I checked, that would put Connor pretty close to the beginning of things, what the 'C' and all."  
  
"Unfortunately a 'D' isn't going to push things back much further," Angel admitted, "and that's where Connor begins. With Darla."  
  
"Darla?"  
  
Whatever Buffy had expected, it was not this name from the distant past. Angel's ex had been carpet lint for almost as long as she had known him; how could she have anything to do with the child Buffy now held in her arms?  
  
"But how is that...that's not possible. She's dead. I mean really most sincerely dead."  
  
"They brought her back. Wolfram & Hart, I mean. About 18 months ago...well, actually a little more, I guess...they brought her back and sent her after me."  
  
Eighteen months. Buffy could feel the figure spinning dizzily through her brain, prompting a hysterical urge to giggle. Eighteen months. Incredible. Was there anything Buffy could do that Darla hadn't already tried?  
  
"It's still not possible," she insisted, realizing the instant the words left her mouth how ridiculous they sounded coming from her, of all people.  
  
Angel smiled ruefully, acknowledging the absolute even as he reminded her of its vanquished status. "Let she who hasn't risen from the grave cast the first headstone."  
  
"Not funny," she snapped, unreasonably irritated by the discovery that his sense of humor was now akin to her own.  
  
"No," he agreed, "it wasn't."  
  
He never told her; Buffy couldn't believe he had never told her. He said it so casually, like it no longer mattered except in the way that it brought Connor to him, but it must have been a horrible shock at the time. And yet he had never said a word before tonight.  
  
"Why am I just hearing about this now? Didn't you think I might be the slightest bit interested, since once upon a time she tried to kill me?"  
  
He had known this question was coming, and he thought he was prepared. But nothing could ever shield his heart when he saw pain on Buffy's face.  
  
"When I first found out, I couldn't...I just couldn't. I wasn't sure if you'd want to help," Angel looked down at his folded hands, "or maybe that it wouldn't matter that much to you. And I didn't want to know if it was the second one."  
  
She refused to feel guilty for his uncertainty; he was the one who thought they didn't belong in each other's lives.  
  
"So fine, after it was all over you couldn't have dropped me a card? Left a message on my machine?"  
  
Angel's head snapped up, his dark eyes holding her fast. "After it was all over, your mother had just died. I didn't want to add to your worries. So I told Giles, asked him to keep an eye out for Darla. He never called me, so I guess she never came this way."  
  
"You told Giles...but not me?"  
  
"I told Giles she was back," he swiftly corrected her. "I didn't go into details."  
  
He barely let himself examine the details back then, let alone shared them with others.  
  
"I don't understand any of this." She took refuge in the facts, pushing hurt feelings to the background for later examination. "What was she supposed to do after her grand reentrance? Kill you?"  
  
Angel shook his head; his life was never that simple. "I'm not sure exactly what the master plan was. Have me turn her, drive me crazy, make me lose my soul, make me evil even with my soul...I never really figured it out. But she came back into my life as a human, and I tried to help her, and then they..." he paused, remembering that awful night, "they had Dru turn her. In front of me. There was nothing I could do."  
  
"Oh god, Angel, I'm sorry," Buffy breathed. She looked down at the child resting quietly in her embrace. "When? How old was he?"  
  
He smiled grimly. "Did I mention the word 'prophecy'? Connor wasn't even conceived at that point."  
  
"That doesn't make any sense," Buffy replied flatly. He'd told her once he couldn't have children and she'd accepted it, even understood it. "She's a vampire again, you're a vampire...two vamps does not a baby make. Even one in the mix would take one heck of a prophecy."  
  
"You know me; never do anything in a small way." He shrugged; Darla's part of the prophecy had long ago ceased to concern him. "I can't pretend to explain it, Buffy, but Connor's birth was foretold. I just wish I'd been better prepared for Darla's rebirth; when I first saw her...I thought I was going crazy."  
  
"I can see where you'd get that idea." She tried to casually drop the next question into the conversation, though technique took a back seat to need. "So, umm, where is she now? She's not like, out in the car or something, is she?" Buffy looked queasy at the thought.  
  
"She died," Angel answered brusquely. "The prophecy...it allowed Connor to be conceived, and protected him while she was carrying him, but it couldn't make a dead body give birth. So she staked herself to save him."  
  
"I'm...well, I guess my line for tonight is 'I'm sorry'."  
  
And let's have a big round of applause for Miss Insensitivity 2002, she berated herself. Even Cordelia must seem the essence of tact compared to Buffy the Amazing Foot-Swallower.  
  
"We weren't together, Buffy; Connor was conceived and then I didn't see her again until she was ready to give birth." Angel could tell by the way she was avoiding his eyes that she didn't understand. "One night it all built up...everything she was doing, everything I had seen, everything I'd given up...I was drowning and I just lost the will to hang on anymore."  
  
No, he wasn't supposed to do that. She didn't care that he thought himself weak; he was the strong one and she needed to him stay that way, to have stayed that way while she had been drowning. Shame gave way to anger, good old familiar anger.  
  
"So you slept with her to lose your soul? How could you?"  
  
Angel stood up and began to pace. However deserved the accusation, he was still getting pretty tired of hearing it.  
  
"Why does everyone think I'm so anxious to lose my soul that I deliberately put it at risk?"  
  
"I'd say your little tax deduction is a pretty good answer to that." She bit her lip before she continued, "Not to mention a certain other time...that we're not going to mention."  
  
They were most certainly going to mention it, Angel vowed silently, but not now. Now was about Connor, and by extension, Darla.  
  
"I wasn't trying to lose my soul, Buffy," he said slowly, calling on every morsel of patience he had at his command. "I was just angry, and lonely, and confused. It seemed like everything I had been doing was for nothing; even if I got rid of every bit of paranormal evil in the world, the normal human stuff still ranks pretty high on the darkness scale." He stopped pacing and turned to face her. "I had no hope left, so I turned to Darla thinking...thinking at least if I embraced evil I was making a decision, not just reacting."  
  
Buffy couldn't speak; it was as though he had taken the words from some place deep within her own soul and laid claim to them as his.  
  
"Besides," he added, returning to the sofa, "it's not like I hadn't slept with Darla since my soul was restored; I told you a long time ago that I went back to her for a short time after the first curse. Did you really think she put up with my soul for the sake of my conversational skills?"  
  
"I tried not to think about it, period," she admitted, raising an eyebrow at him.  
  
Angel reached out and gently stroked Connor's back, finding, as always, a touchstone in the simple fact of his son's existence. He was what mattered, not Darla or the past.  
  
"Why would I feel any more for her now, when I know what true happiness is?"  
  
Buffy rested her cheek on Connor's silky fine hair, feeling his tiny heartbeat pound against her chest. He was warm, and soft, and the dark pools beneath those blue veined eyelids were his father's eyes. Child of two vampires, he was the closest thing to a miracle she had ever beheld, and all she could do was wonder why she, supposed savior of the universe, could take no credit or claim.  
  
"Why are you here?" she whispered.  
  
"He's hungry," Angel answered, in typical Cryptic Guy fashion.  
  
"Excuse me?" She raised her head and stared at her former lover. "They don't have formula in LA?"  
  
"He's going to start crying in a minute," Angel warned her. "You won't be able to hear the answer to your question if we don't get a bottle in his mouth pretty quickly."  
  
Buffy moved her head so that she could look down at the baby, still nuzzling her in apparent contentment. "How can you tell? He looks pretty happy to me."  
  
Angel took his hand from Connor's back and leaned forward, almost resting his head on Buffy's shoulder as he pointed to his son's mouth. "See his lips, the way they're making a fish face? He's hungry."  
  
"That's so cute," she breathed, momentarily entranced by the sight of the tiny mouth working against the ruffled edge of her blouse.  
  
Suddenly every cell in her body became aware of Angel's dangerous proximity; one of his arms stretched behind her back, the other hand just inches from her breast, his head almost resting on her bare shoulder. She lifted her troubled eyes to meet his, wondering if he was experiencing the same old breathless feeling from simply being next to each other.  
  
"Maybe we should...go feed him," she suggested, the words dragging from her mouth one syllable at a time. She didn't want to move, didn't want to break the spell, and yet if she didn't move soon, something irrevocable might happen.  
  
He saw the reluctance in her face, and he could sense the tension in her slight frame. She was as torn as he, wanting to hide from the feelings that rose too easily between them, and wanting to bask in them at the same time. It was the same old merry-go-round, but this time there was another passenger to consider.  
  
Connor.  
  
Angel slowly, carefully, backed away on the cushions, using the hand that had so nearly touched her silken skin to grab for the diaper bag. He cleared his throat and tried to speak calmly, suppressing with force of long habit the desire he could feel clawing at his heart and body.  
  
"I, uh, brought some stuff with us," he said, only the faintest trace of huskiness coloring his voice. "I need to heat it up, though, if you've got a pan and some water."  
  
She wasn't sure if she was grateful or hurt that he ended the moment, but she seized it in good grace. "We even have a stove," Buffy promised, "since I'm guessing you're not big on that newfangled microwave technology."  
  
She stood up quickly, Connor still clutched in her arms. Angel slipped the diaper bag over his shoulder and reached out for his son.  
  
"It's okay," she said, stepping sideways to slip past him without any part of her body contacting his. "I've got him."  
  
Angel sighed and followed her into the kitchen. Though he'd thought to bring along basic supplies, he hadn't really factored in his son's needs, and how they would mesh with his own. Now he faced heart-wrenching confessions over a pan of boiling water. What was next; a profession of eternal devotion over a dirty diaper?  
  
No, that last one wouldn't happen, he reminded himself, because that wasn't why he was here. He was here to...  
  
Connor's first hungry wail pushed aside any thoughts of why he came, leaving only the fact that he was here...and not alone.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy awkwardly tried to balance Connor on her narrow hip as she bent down to pull a pan from the drawer beneath the stove. Angel leaned over to help, but his sudden presence by her side took her by surprise and she stumbled backwards, stepping on his foot.  
  
"I can do this," she said impatiently. "If I can save the world, I can probably boil a pan of water."  
  
He forbore from mentioning his memories of her early cooking attempts, times that made him grateful he didn't need to eat; he simply backed away, hands raised in the air.  
  
"Sorry, I just know it's a little tough at first to keep a good hold of him and still have a free hand. I was only trying to help."  
  
Buffy snorted, in lieu of a more formally worded retort, and bent down once more to retrieve the pan. She couldn't explain why she needed to hold on to the baby when Angel was willing to do this by himself. Maybe it was some deep-seated recognition of the barriers her Slayer state placed between her and eventual motherhood. Maybe it was just what Xander would have called a 'chica-thing', this need to prove that she could care for a child.  
  
Or maybe it was that in holding this child she was holding a piece of Angel; the piece that she could never have, and yet the only piece she could legitimately touch.  
  
She focused her attention on the water in the pan, willing it to boil and speed along a process that was creating a large, silent, hole in the conversation. Angel busied himself getting the formula prepared, sneaking quick glances over his shoulder at Buffy and Connor when he thought she wasn't looking. She knew what he was doing, but since she was using all her strength to keep from doing the same thing to him, she decided not to call him on it.  
  
When at last the bottle was ready, she looked anxiously from baby, to bottle, to father.  
  
"Do I just sit him up?" she asked hesitantly, gnawing on her lower lip in consternation. "Not by himself, I mean; I know he's too young for...he is too young, right?"  
  
Angel smiled gently; her questions sounded so like his own the first few days...weeks...months, really...of Connor's life. He had been too afraid to ask anyone, though; too afraid a sign of ignorance would show he was unworthy of the trust placed in him.  
  
"Just sit down," he said, pulling a chair out for her, "and kind of prop him up in your arms. He knows how to do the rest."  
  
She smiled at him in return and started to sit down, marveling at how bizarre it was to be doing something so...ordinary...with the most extraordinary man she knew. It almost seemed like someone should have a camera to record the moment before it vanished forever.  
  
Then the kitchen door swung open, and the perfect moment in time evaporated as though it had never been.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"All right, where's the big bad bug?" Spike grumbled as he sauntered through the doorway. "Super Spike is here to save the dam...dammit!" He scowled at Angel. "What the hell is going on here?"  
  
"I was just going to say the same thing," Buffy snapped, quickly getting to her feet. "How did you get in?"  
  
She forgot for an instant that Connor was in her arms, but Angel's reflexes were as good as hers, if not better where his child was concerned. The baby was out of her arms before her mind even registered she had been temporarily off-balance.  
  
She tore her eyes from the sight of Angel once again cradling Connor in his arms, turning her confusion onto the source: Spike.  
  
"I revoked your invitation; I revoked it so much it's a wonder you can set foot outside your crypt. So how did you get in here?"  
  
Spike was too busy gaping at the image of his sire with an infant to register Buffy's question. He couldn't decide what bothered him more: the revolting picture his formerly bad-ass mentor made with a googly-eyed brat in his arms, or the fact that said bad-ass mentor was obviously making himself at home in the Summers' residence again.  
  
"Spike!" Buffy's voice was sharp, and flavored with the faintest hint of panic. "You've got about two seconds before you end up on the wrong end of a wooden spoon. Talk."  
  
She almost bit her tongue as the last word left her mouth. Spike definitely knew how to talk, but what he said was invariably designed to cause maximum emotional damage. Giving him a chance to speak, let alone begging him to, was tantamount to opening a vein and giving him a straw.  
  
"It was the niblet; she asked me to come," Spike said, forcing his attention away from Angel with the greatest of effort. "She, uh, knew old Spike would never do her no harm and..."  
  
"Oh that's a laugh. Just because you can't kill people anymore does not make you harmless. If anyone knows that..." she faltered, suddenly wary of revealing too much. "Well, if anyone knows that, everyone knows that," she finished lamely.  
  
"What I want to know is what he's doing here?" Spike jerked his head at Angel, who was now trying to soothe his crying child. "And what's up with the half-pint he's packing?"  
  
"This is my son," Angel answered, with the faintest of growls in the back of his throat.  
  
He sat down at the table, very deliberately picking up the bottle and putting it in Connor's mouth. Although more questions were born screaming in his head with each word out of the younger vampire's mouth, Angel was making a great effort not to let any of them show on his face.  
  
"Fine, Dawn invited you," Buffy said, trying to regain control of the conversation. "Now get out so I can uninvite you. And the next time she invites you...well, you don't actually have to worry about that because you're out of next times."  
  
But Angel's answer had robbed Buffy of her hold on Spike's attention. "Son?" he exclaimed, taking a few steps toward his sire. "What the bloody hell are you talking about, mate? All that smog in LA finally settle in your oversized head?"  
  
"He's my son," Angel repeated, his eyes steadily fixed on Spike's as he shifted the child out of the younger vampire's reach. "And if you ever lay a hand, accidental or otherwise, on him, your immortality will be over before the sensation from your fingertips registers on your underdeveloped brain."  
  
"Spike, just get out. You don't belong here."  
  
Spike barely restrained a shudder when he glimpsed the cold promise in Angel's eyes, but the Slayer's expression offered scarcely any more in the way of warmth. In her though, he at least had a weapon.  
  
"Seems to me I belonged here more recently than Pops." He jerked his head at Angel again, carefully avoiding his sire's gaze for all his jaunty tone. "And a lot more frequently, if certain gypsy curses are to be believed. Course, judging by the tadpole, he's been finding somewhere to store his sword at night." Spike dared a quick, impudent grin at the older vampire. "Don't suppose you'd be willing to share her number with an old pal?"  
  
"I believe the lady asked you to leave, Spike." Angel kept his voice calm and even, knowing even the slightest sign of temper or unease would be an admission of weakness.  
  
Spike pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and threw himself down in it, propping his boots up on the table. "Yeah, well, the lady has her moods, you know," he confided. "One minute it's 'Get out! Get out!' and the next it's 'Get..."  
  
Buffy's fist connected with his jaw before he could complete the sentence, forcing him to swallow the thought, and almost his tongue, as he hurtled backwards against the wall.  
  
"Get gone," Buffy said succinctly. She stood slightly at an angle to the prone vampire, weight evenly balanced and fists raised for a second assault, should it prove necessary.  
  
"Buffy, no!" Dawn shouted as she ran in from the hall.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy didn't even bother to look at her sister; she didn't dare take her eyes off of Spike for an instant.  
  
"Dawnie, go back upstairs."  
  
"No," the teenager insisted, running a few more steps into the room, until she was standing at Spike's side. "It's my fault he's here; I invited him. I said it would be okay just this once," she quickly glanced down at the vampire, "but he was supposed to come before you got home from work."  
  
"Ran a little late, that's all," Spike grumbled from his spot on the floor. He cautiously sat up, though he made no move to get to his feet quite yet. Though he might not win in a show of strength against his sire, there could be pathos points to be awarded.  
  
"Oh, sure, just happened to run late," Buffy scoffed. "Just happened to on the odd chance that I might just be home and we could sort of...bump into each other."  
  
Spike leered up at her, sensing another golden opportunity, and judging himself to be relatively safe with Dawn at his side.  
  
"Thought we might bump a few things, actually."  
  
"Buffy, I'm sorry," Dawn said quickly, jumping in verbally before her sister had a chance to spring physically. "There's a humongous bug in the basement; I saw it there last night. And you know I hate bugs, and I know you hate bugs, and I thought since you have to kill all the really evil creepy-crawlies, maybe I could get Spike over here to kill a not-so-evil but really creepy creepy-crawly."  
  
"The only creepy-crawly in this house is Spike," Buffy answered, restraining her temper with great effort, "and I can handle him myself."  
  
"And what a set of hands she's got, too." Spike nodded pertly in Angel's direction, the younger vampire's eyes glittering with barely suppressed amusement. "Can make a fellow downright weak in the knees sometimes."  
  
"Spike, maybe you'd better go." Dawn reached down and gave him a hand up, nodding her head at the back door. "Buffy can kill the bug, or Angel can kill it and..." But she had said one name too many; Dawn could see it in Spike's grim face.  
  
"Oh, I'm not going anywhere while he's still here."  
  
Angel stood up slowly, the restrained power in his figure in no way diminished by the small child he held in his arms.  
  
"If you don't respect the fact that Buffy can kill you very easily...trust the fact that I won't."  
  
Spike took an inadvertent step backwards, trying to escape the suppressed fury in his sire's eyes. The younger vampire quickly realized his mistake, however, and tried to make it look as though he was broadening his stance, preparing for battle.  
  
"You'd be a mite more scary without the rugrat, chum." Spike sneered, desperately trying to save face. "As it is...well, what a perfect little prairie wife you'd make."  
  
"I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Angel." Buffy spared an exasperated glance at one former lover before she advanced on another. "You have no business here, Spike. Not now, not ever. Leave before I have to hurt you."  
  
"But baby, I like it when you hurt me," the blond vampire cooed, suddenly enjoying the dangerous thrill of laying down his cards in front of Angel. "Almost as much as you like it when I give it back to you." He took a step forward, running his hand down her arm. "And you do like it; I know you do."  
  
She twisted her arm underneath his hand, swinging it upwards to catch his wrist and force it behind his back. With a sweet smile she shoved him towards the door, and into it, before pulling him back to open it.  
  
"Well I know I enjoyed that." She shoved him out the door, standing in the center of the doorway for a parting shot. "But mostly, I like the part where we say 'good-night'."  
  
She started to slam the door, but caught the knob before the door hit the sill and finished closing it gently. No sense in giving Spike the satisfaction of acknowledging he had drawn blood.  
  
Angel was already sitting down again with Connor by the time she turned around. She watched in painful fascination as one of his long fingertips caressed the baby's cheek while the others held the bottle securely in Connor's mouth. It was a gesture inherently Angel-like, a fleeting moment of public, and spontaneous, tenderness.  
  
"I'm, umm..." she cleared her throat, "I'm sorry about that. Spike, I mean. He, umm, got used to making himself at home and he forgets..."  
  
"That he's not invited anymore," Angel asked quietly, not looking up from Connor.  
  
She sighed in relief; maybe he had been too preoccupied with Connor to notice Spike's less than subtle hints.  
  
"Yeah, that." She hurried back to her chair beside Angel and held out her arms. "Want me to finish feeding him?"  
  
Angel regarded her steadily for a moment before shifting Connor's weight over to her arms.  
  
"It's not so easy to get rid of a vampire once you let them in," he said quietly. "You should remember that."  
  
"I will," she promised, flashing him a bright smile. "It's just..."  
  
"It's even harder once you've invited them into your bed," he continued, forcing his voice to remain calm.  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
  
To Be Continued 


	2. Chapter 2

Heal Me  
  
Part 2  
  
By Gem  
  
  
  
He knew. Oh god, he knew.  
  
Buffy's head snapped up at Angel's words, and her lips opened automatically to deny his suspicions. But when she looked into his face, she realized she couldn't lie to him, not about this. She had lied to herself, and to her friends, for months. But now, even when a lie seemed the kindest thing, she could not do it to Angel. Too many feelings had been strained and broken between them over the years; she would not sacrifice the final fragment of trust remaining in his eyes.  
  
But oh, how angry it made her to have him so easily see the truth everyone else had been blind to.  
  
"Actually we usually didn't make it to the bed," she snapped, letting that anger getting the best of her.  
  
"Buffy, don't," Dawn whispered.  
  
Neither Buffy nor Angel seemed to hear her; the emotions flowing between them ran too strong and deep to acknowledge any outside influences.  
  
"Typical Spike," Angel choked out with a bitter laugh. "That boy could never even spell 'class' let alone practice it."  
  
"Takes two to do the horizontal tango," she shot back. "Are you saying I don't have any class either?"  
  
"I'm saying he took advantage of your vulnerability. You were confused and in pain, and he feeds off of that."  
  
Angel held back his fury through sheer force of will, though every cell of his being was raging for action. He wanted to torture Spike, and stake Spike, and then torture his ashes.  
  
"Do you think I don't know that?" she hissed, her face scarlet with remembered shame. "Do you think I'm so dumb I didn't realize he only stopped trying to get me killed when my mom got sick? Literally the same day he stopped; do you think I didn't get what that meant?"  
  
"Then why?" he whispered.  
  
"Maybe I liked it," she snarled. "Maybe I liked being appreciated for being weak for a change. Big Bad Buffy, always the strong one, savior of the universe...it starts to get old, you know? He didn't want me to be strong, except for physically; he didn't need me to be strong. Hell, he didn't even like it when I was strong. It was...a relief."  
  
"Buffy, please let me take the baby."  
  
But Dawn's request fell on deaf ears.  
  
"Everybody has their moments of weakness. If anyone understands that, I do; I practically made a career out of it. But to live your life that way...to be almost proud of it...that's not you; you're better than that."  
  
A part of him was already wishing he had never made love to her at all, ever, so that he would have no way of imagining the way she looked when she was in bed with Spike.  
  
"But I didn't want to be me anymore; don't you get that? The 'me' you're talking about was tired of feeling alone and angry, and not being allowed to be either. I was tired of trying to be 'happy Buffy' by day so they wouldn't feel bad or worry about me, and then screaming into my pillow at night when no one else could hear."  
  
Now Angel wanted to stake himself. He had left her alone to deal with all of this, knowing what Spike was, and knowing how badly confused she already was. How could he have been so careless?  
  
"I've been where you were," he admitted with difficulty. "For the past year I've been there. I've worked so hard to win back my friends' trust, and make them feel secure that as least as long as my soul is safe I won't ever cross the line again. And that meant a lot of 'happy Angel' moments, until even I started to wonder what was real and what was fake." He shook his head at all the lost time that lay between them. "If you had only talked to me...I would have understood."  
  
"You mean because I had such great luck the night of Mom's..." she caught her breath before she continued, "I admitted I needed you that night and you couldn't get out of town fast enough."  
  
He had relived that night so many times in his mind, trying to find some way he could have changed things, changed himself, so that he could have stayed. Every time he replayed the memory, however, he came to the same inescapable conclusion: he had not been ready. Not then.  
  
"It had to do with how much I needed you, not the other way around. You know that."  
  
"It doesn't matter anyway," she said, and tried to believe it.  
  
"Yes it does," he insisted. "You matter...too much to waste yourself on Spike. He couldn't help you deal with your pain, Buffy; his only interest is in creating more."  
  
"Oh yes, poor little Buffy," she sneered. "If you thought I was in so much pain, where the hell were you? He was here at least."  
  
Angel stared at her in sick amazement. "You didn't want me here. You made that very clear the last time I saw you."  
  
"You mean the time that you didn't mention you'd already road-tested your soul with Darla?" Through the film of barely suppressed tears, she noticed Connor had stopped sucking on his bottle. She lifted the baby up to her shoulder, jerkily patting his back as she continued, "What, it's okay for you to sleep with vampires but it's not okay for me?"  
  
"No, please," Dawn quietly begged. "Please don't do this." She began inching her way backwards towards the hallway, intent on escaping the anger in the room before it swallowed her too.  
  
"Stop making it sound like a double standard," he snapped, the fragile hold on his temper beginning to weaken. "I am a vampire, so yes, I guess it is okay for me to sleep with them. Once." Angel held up his hand, pointing his index finger at the ceiling. "One night. From the sound of it, you were logging frequent flyer miles on Air Spike."  
  
"So now we're counting? Do I have to remind you how long it would take me to catch up with even your pre-death track record?"  
  
God, why was she doing this? She wanted to explain, she wanted to make things right but when she saw the hurt in his eyes, hurt she had caused, the old darkness roiled out from the corners of her battered soul. Pain was not only a weapon, but also a shield to hide behind.  
  
"And can I remind you...vampire slayer? Where does it mention sleeping with the enemy in the Slayer Handbook?"  
  
"Maybe I'm just field-testing." She shrugged, trying to pretend his words didn't scrape her nerves raw. "A couple of times with you; a couple of dozen times with Spike. Get to know the strengths and weaknesses."  
  
Dawn was almost out the door, but something in Buffy's words stopped her in her tracks. Had her sister just said 'a couple of times' with Angel?  
  
Angel stiffened in his chair. He knew her words were pouring out of her own inner turmoil, but that made his wounds no less deep. "Happy to be of service," he growled. "Anything for the cause."  
  
"Hey, I'm just sorry the second time wasn't quite as much fun for you." She bit back a harsh gasp as she fought for the breath to continue. "Guess Darla and I have even more in common than I thought. Blonde hair, resurrection...and the amazing inability to show you a really good time."  
  
Dawn was beginning to get a glimmer of the fight behind the fight, and it frightened her. She hadn't known...Buffy had never said anything...if Buffy had only said something.  
  
"Buffy, wait," she said hesitantly. Maybe it still wasn't too late, if she could just get them to listen to her.  
  
If.  
  
* * * * *  
  
She was still stuck on that night, that moment in time when the world's possibilities opened for him and left her on the other side of them. He was no closer to making Buffy see the truth than he had been the last time they saw each other, maybe even a few steps further behind.  
  
"Why did I come back here?" Angel muttered, running his hand through the dark spikes of his hair.  
  
She laughed harshly. "Funny, I tried to ask the same thing and you changed the subject so fast I almost missed the turn. So why are you here?"  
  
Why was he here? Angel opened his mouth to answer, and suddenly realized he was no longer sure. He'd had a purpose when he started out, even if he had been reluctant to carry it out. Somehow, though, between the confessions and confrontations that followed his arrival, he'd lost track of how he came to be here.  
  
But looking into Buffy's tear-bright hazel eyes, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he'd found the real reason at last.  
  
"You have to listen to me," Dawn implored. Her voice was growing louder with each imprecation, but she still seemed unable to get through the thick clouds of emotions separating her sister and Angel from the rest of the world.  
  
"I came because I couldn't leave things the way they were," Angel said, realizing the inherent truth in his words even as they were being shaped. "I tried to move on with someone new; I tried to get past it...but I couldn't. I lied to myself, and I lied to...other people...but I couldn't give up on all that we meant to each other." He shook his head helplessly. "It took me too long to find you."  
  
Buffy caught her breath; for a moment he sounded like her Angel, the one she remembered. Not Angel the detective, or Angel the father, or even Angel the friend, just...her Angel. Her Angel would understand her pain she had gone through, the isolation, the desolation, because he had also gone through it.  
  
Gone through it and emerged on the other side, while she still struggled alone in the darkness. He might not want to believe it, but in some ways her Angel had moved on without her. Now it was up to her; did she want to catch up with him at last?  
  
"Angel, I'm not..." she closed her eyes and prayed for strength, "I'm not the person I used to be. I'm so tired of all the anger and the hurt, and I'm trying to get past it, but it's so hard. For the longest time it was easier to give in to it, and I guess that's where Spike came in." She opened her eyes, and watched him intently, trying to communicate with her heart as well as her voice.  
  
"When I saw you, and we...and nothing happened to you...I should have been glad." Her voice broke. "God, I wanted for so long to be able to touch you and have it be safe, but knowing that I couldn't really touch you...that I'd never be able to get that deep into your soul again...I just knew there was something broken in me."  
  
"Buffy, I don't know how to explain it any better now than then, but I know what I felt." He leaned forward, catching her shoulders in his frantic grasp. "I was happy, truly happy, that night; I swear it." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I thought we both were."  
  
She shook her head, a fine mist of tears floating off the planes of her cheeks. "No. I know there was something wrong with me. I thought it was physical at first, but later I knew it was something more." She slipped Connor down to sit on her lap and gripped Angel's wrist with one desperate hand. "All this...hate...this huge anger that's been building inside of me since Mom got sick...it made me into someone I couldn't even recognize. How could it not affect you too?"  
  
"Buffy, it's not your fault!" Dawn shrieked. "You have to listen to me!"  
  
* * * * *  
  
They finally heard her, and turned as one to acknowledge her.  
  
"Oh Dawnie," Buffy breathed, her eyes darkened with anguish. "Why are you still here? You shouldn't be here."  
  
"I'm sorry; I really didn't mean to listen." The teenager impatiently brushed away the tears from the corners of her eyes as she advanced on her sister. "But maybe it's good I did, because you're wrong, Buffy, and if I'd known what you did...what you, umm, both did," she cast an embarrassed glance in Angel's direction, "I would have explained what I did, and why what didn't happen didn't happen."  
  
Angel released his hold on Buffy's shoulders, and slipped his hands down to remove Connor from her lap. He shifted the whimpering baby to his own lap and settled back in his chair, trying to soothe his son as he talked.  
  
"Dawn, you're not making any sense. I know you mean well, but this really doesn't...well, it doesn't concern you."  
  
"He's right, Dawnie," her sister added sadly. "We made this mess ourselves; you had nothing to do with it."  
  
Dawn knelt down in front of Buffy, taking her sister's icy hands in her own warm ones. "But I did," she insisted. "I was only trying to help...and I didn't even know it worked until I heard you mention the last time you saw each other."  
  
Buffy flushed and looked away. "Okay, that part really didn't concern you."  
  
"I cast a protection spell," Dawn said, gritting her teeth to hold back all the names she wanted to call herself for being so stupid. What had she done? How could she have let it get this far? She had to fix it; she just had to.  
  
"When you left that day to see Angel...I knew you were, well, kind of...not in control yet...and I thought how upset Willow said Angel was when she told him you died...and then I thought how happy he must be now that you were alive again, and...well, 'happy' and 'Angel' kind of equal world- endage around here." Dawn smiled tentatively at her sister, hoping to coax at least a hint of the famous Buffy brand of wry humor to the surface. "Even I know that, and I was just a kid the last time."  
  
Buffy licked her suddenly dry lips, never taking her eyes off of the younger girl's face. "What kind of spell? Where did you find it?" Another thought struck her, almost too much to bear. "Did...did anyone help you?"  
  
Dawn quickly shook her head, knowing she meant Willow. "No one else knew. I mean, I talked to Tara about a protection spell for you, because you might get hurt if Angelus came back, but she said from everything Willow told her, you'd be the last person he'd hurt." She glanced at Angel, her brow wrinkled with concern at her unavoidable cruelty. "She said you'd kill the rest of us before you'd touch Buffy, because that would hurt her more."  
  
Angel laughed harshly, his hold on Connor unintentionally tightening as he tried to ward off Angelus' memories; memories that were never far enough away even in the happiest of times.  
  
"She knows me pretty well for someone I've barely met."  
  
Dawn transferred her gaze back to Buffy. "I still thought you were in danger, but what Tara said...it made me realize that the real person who needed protection from Angelus was Angel. I mean the demon takes him over and kicks his soul out; that sounds pretty much like hurting him to me. So I cast a protection spell on Angel's soul, to keep it safe from the demon." She clutched Buffy's hands tighter, trying to communicate her anxiety. "But I didn't know you guys...did anything. I mean you never said, not one word, so I didn't know if the spell worked. That's why I never told you."  
  
"I don't understand," Buffy whispered, looking desperately to Angel for a way to make the world make sense again. "I can see Willow channeling that kind of power...but Dawn? She just..."  
  
"Just a kid," Dawn finished scornfully, dropping her sister's hands. "I'm fifteen, Buffy; I'll be sixteen in a few months. How old was Willow when she restored Angel's soul?"  
  
"She's the Key," Angel added softly. "As much as there is mystical energy flowing through you, there's probably even more flowing through Dawn, human or not."  
  
It was Dawn all the time, not him; he wasn't forgiven. Yet Buffy was alive, and the same connection still bound them as one after all this time apart. And then there was Connor. Angel could live very happily without forgiveness in the face of so much mercy.  
  
"But a protection spell?" Buffy's voice drew Angel back from his reverie. "That was the answer all along? I don't just mean for that night...but the whole time?"  
  
He shook his head regretfully; he could see where Buffy's thoughts were turning but that path only led to more lost time. "We don't know that; we can't. It might have taken Dawn's power to give the spell enough strength, and we both know she wasn't really always with you."  
  
"No, it can't be that simple." Buffy pushed her chair back with a scrape and got to her feet, suddenly too restless to sit still another moment. "It wasn't just the protection spell, though maybe...no, there was...there is...something off about me." She paced around the kitchen table in a tireless circle, trying to find a straight line to the future. "I've known it since I got back, and all the spells in the world don't explain why Spike could hit me."  
  
Angel straightened in his chair, his instincts once more calling for battle. "Spike can do what? I thought he had some sort of Pavlovian chip in his head to prevent violence against humans."  
  
"He does," Buffy answered sharply. "I just don't seem to qualify anymore. Tara tried to feed me some biological nonsense, but I know it's not that; it's something deeper." She stopped pacing and held up her hands to keep any well-meaning protests at bay. "I'm not using that as an excuse anymore, but it doesn't change what I feel inside. I don't feel...me...anymore. I feel closer now than I used to, but something's never...reset...since I died."  
  
Angel looked at her strangely; did she really still know so little about the true nature of her destiny?  
  
"Buffy, I don't know if it has anything to do with Spike, but that part of you...it's never going to reset." Angel shifted Connor on his lap, freeing one hand to reach over and gently touch Buffy's knee. "Didn't Giles ever explain to you about Slayers and magick, especially deep magick?"  
  
It was Buffy's turn to be confused. "No, when Giles talks about magick, especially these days, the preferred words are 'no,' 'don't' and 'stop'. And not in that order."  
  
"You were born with a certain amount of magick, Buffy; all slayers are. It protects them until they are called, healing wounds, preventing illnesses, that sort of thing. Later, when the slayer is called, it brings the prophetic dreams." He smiled sadly at her. "I know you've had those."  
  
She shivered and rubbed her hands on her bare arms; she remembered all too well when those visions concerned Angel.  
  
"The older a slayer gets," Angel continued softly, "the stronger the magick in her becomes. And if a slayer died...and deep magick was used to bring her back..." he shook his head, "I can only imagine how much power would settle in her."  
  
"But it's not like I can bend spoons with my mind or anything," she protested. "If anything I feel weaker physically since I came back. I've been training and training, but it all seems so much harder now."  
  
"It's probably the magick in your soul fighting against the power in your physical being. Each side wants to be dominant, and you're caught in the middle." A quick flash of his old trademark half-smile flitted across his face. "Been there, done that."  
  
"So what you're telling me is that I was right all along; I'm not really human anymore." She dropped into a chair, suddenly deflated. After all this time, being proven right would take some adjusting.  
  
"No, that's not what I meant at all," Angel protested. "You're not less than human, Buffy; you're..." he shrugged, "more, I guess. Human plus a little something extra that makes you the sum total of Buffy Summers, version 6.0."  
  
Dawn beamed at him. "Hey, you make computer jokes now. Not good ones, but still...hey."  
  
Angel didn't even seem to hear the younger Summers; he only knew Buffy's pain, the pain he couldn't seem to assuage.  
  
"It had nothing to do with how I felt about you that night," he said softly, "and it had nothing to do with what did or did not happen with my soul. I was happy, dammit; happier than I remember being since..." his voice trailed off as he remembered the last time he'd truly been happy, on a day only he would ever know. "Since the night of your birthday," he finished softly, hoping someday she would forgive him his lie.  
  
Hoping there was a 'someday' for them at all.  
  
"I can't...I can't do this right now," she said abruptly, knocking over the chair she been sitting on in her haste to get to her feet. "If you came back to show me your shiny new life, then...done." She began moving sideways towards the kitchen door, keeping her eyes focused on the tile to avoid Angel's knowing gaze. "And if you came back to convince me that I can still give good happy...thanks for the update. But I can't...I just can't."  
  
Angel got to his feet in alarm. "Buffy," he began.  
  
But he began too late to keep her from opening the door and fleeing into the dark night.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy moved quickly but aimlessly along the dark streets of Sunnydale, hoping against hope Spike had already made it back to the safety of his crypt. She was in the mood to hurt someone tonight, someone other than herself or Angel, for a change, and Spike would be a satisfying choice. But after all she had been through with, and because of, Spike, when she finally dusted him she wanted it to be more than a matter of blowing off steam.  
  
She could hear Angel calling her name as he followed her, and she fleetingly wondered if he had the baby with him, or if he actually entrusted Connor to Dawn for the time it would take to track her down. Her little sister had zero experience in dealing with small children, but whether or not she'd told Angel that was anybody's guess.  
  
Buffy broke into a run when she heard Angel's footsteps closing in on her, his longer legs giving him what she considered to be an unfair advantage. She'd had all the gut-wrenching scenes she could handle tonight, and most of her wanted to find a nice quiet cemetery to hide in while she worked out her issues through mass demon-slayage.  
  
A traitorous part of her knew, though, that Angel would know unerringly where to find her, and he wouldn't see work as a barrier to talking things out. They'd had some very intense discussions in the past in the middle of patrol; their emotional ties seemed to add to their fighting skills, not distract attention from the job at hand. If it hadn't been so useful in a survival sense, it would have actually been rather irritating.  
  
A sign caught her eye as she sped past, and she made an abrupt turn to head back towards it. St. Mary's Cemetery, the sign had said; she knew it was a new cemetery and thus not one of 'their' places. It was also bound to contain at least one or two of the freshly undead, whom she could pummel unmercifully until she saw fit to disperse their soulless corpses into the cool night air.  
  
Or at the very least, she could find a quiet place to cry.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Buffy!" Angel shouted, just before he saw her veer off to the right. "We still need to..."  
  
It was no use; she wasn't going to stop until she was ready, and that probably wouldn't be until she'd vented her frustrations on a few hapless vampires.  
  
Angel's steps slowed as he followed her path through the gates of an unfamiliar cemetery. No sense in rushing now; he'd know where to find her by the sounds of battle, and with the mood she was in right now he'd do better to stand on the sidelines until she'd remembered exactly who the enemy really was.  
  
His cell phone bumped against his hip, reminding him of the other fixed point in his universe. He hadn't liked to leave Connor with Dawn, but Buffy had left him little choice. His son was fed and warm, and Dawn was only too eager for the chance to take care of him. She also had his cell phone number, the pediatrician's number and the number of the nearest hospital; he made sure of that even in his haste to leave.  
  
At that, he still had almost brought the baby with him, but the night air was too chilly and Connor wasn't quite old enough for his first patrol. Angel was fairly sure he'd never feel Connor was old enough for that first patrol, but that was something he had a number of years to work on.  
  
Years he was realizing he'd almost spent with the wrong person.  
  
He couldn't believe how close he had come to blowing everything, with Buffy and with Cordelia. Cordy was his closest friend, his personal cheerleader and many times his confidant; for all that he loved her dearly. But the past few hours had reminded him of all the feelings he had tried so hard to leave behind him in Sunnydale; all the pain, and the heartache...and the peace and the joy and the hope.  
  
He'd found a measure of peace and happiness in LA, but they were bought with conscious effort and a deep struggle he didn't dare share with his friends. Angel had shaped his habits into more human patterns, forcing himself to dredge up long-repressed memories of the man he used to be to use as an example. He could never be Liam again, but his human self had been liked, if not respected, and he had seldom been alone.  
  
But finding the positive aspects of his human existence wasn't enough to build a life on; being human had not automatically made him a good person, and the fragments he could extract were meaningless without all he had learned since those days. He had almost made a costly mistake, and Cordelia a great disservice, by pretending this was not so. Tonight had removed the blinders from his eyes.  
  
Now if he could just find Buffy and explain, or rather finish explaining, maybe he could finally put all the pieces together the way they had always meant to be arranged.  
  
It was about time past, present and future started working together...just as soon as he found Buffy.  
  
* * * * *  
  
She had ducked off to the side as soon as she came through the gates, hoping to find a tree or a tall monument to block Angel's view of her progression through the cemetery. She didn't want to talk to him right now; she just wanted to stake a few vamps and be on her way. Very quickly on her way, before he could catch up with her. Honestly, how many times did a girl have to run away before a guy got the message?  
  
Running away, she was running away. Again. Buffy's steps slowed and then stopped. Lately her subconscious has been sending her some very unpleasant self-truths, and she had a feeling tonight's were going to be no easier to bear. But since the day she had forced herself to be honest about Spike, the volume control on her little voice seemed to malfunction with the most depressing frequency.  
  
Buffy had always prided herself on not backing down from a fight, yet since the moment she'd been faced with the reality of her mother's mortality, she'd been in almost constant flight. She'd tried to lose herself in her slaying, tried to withdraw into her own childhood, she'd even thrown herself off of a tower to stay one step ahead of her own inadequacies.  
  
Nothing helped.  
  
As the Slayer, Buffy had saved her mother from vampires, from killer robots, and from reliving her adolescence courtesy of drugged candy. But the truth was, she'd only saved Joyce so that her own brain could betray her. Buffy had never really saved anyone; she couldn't. They were all going to die and leave her some day, while she kept being brought back over and over again to face their loss. Even the one who couldn't die had left her.  
  
But now he was back, searching for her, and she was still trying to stay just a little bit out of reach so he couldn't break her heart one more time. Except in doing so she was breaking his heart, and that was the one thing in her life she knew she was meant to protect forever.  
  
Buffy turned slowly, almost unwillingly, and made her way back to the gates, where she knew he would be waiting for her.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Angel felt her approach long before he saw the small figure moving towards him across the damp, moonlit grass.  
  
"Buffy," he called out softly, as though he couldn't already feel her with every cell of his body.  
  
"What gave me away?"  
  
He shrugged, trying to project a calm he didn't feel. "Not too many girls with heartbeats hang out in cemeteries at night, at least not if they want to keep that heart beating."  
  
"Guess I'm just quirky." Her light tone fell away as she came to stand next to him. Looking up at his troubled face, haloed by the moonlight, she let the love in her heart color her voice. "And I guess I'm tired of running; I think it's time we both stood still long enough to really talk."  
  
He nodded somberly. "It's been a long time."  
  
"Do you need..." she stopped herself, pushing selfish desires aside in favor of her better instincts. Connor was a baby; he needed, and possessed, the first call on his father's attention. "Do you want to go back to the house first so you can check on Connor?"  
  
He did, but he knew it had more to do with his need for Connor than Connor's for him.  
  
"He'll be fine with Dawn for a little while," he said resolutely. He mentally scolded himself for being an overprotective father, even as he surreptitiously brushed his hand across the cell phone in his pocket. Good, he could still feel the faint vibration that meant it was turned on. "She said Willow should be home soon anyway. But thanks for asking."  
  
The smile still flashed as quickly across his face as in the old days, but even in this half-light there was a visible lightness to it that she had never seen been before tonight. Buffy wasn't sure if it had to do more with her offer, or the mention of his son's name, and she suddenly didn't care. Tortured past be damned; he was here, she was here, and the future was still up for the reinventing.  
  
There was a marble bench with a wrought iron back just inside the gates; Angel gestured to it, and waited in true gentlemanly fashion for Buffy to be seated before he took his place beside her.  
  
"I'm sorry," she began, and then laughed self-consciously. "There's that phrase again. But I really am sorry. For running off, I mean. I was," she looked back at the dimly lit graveyard for a moment before she faced him again, "I was a little overwhelmed, but that's no excuse."  
  
He reached out to cover her chilled hands with his own still colder ones. Somehow the contact warmed them both.  
  
"You had a right to be overwhelmed; I show up on your doorstep unannounced...with a baby you knew nothing about...and then Spike comes in and shoots his little poison darts...the only thing missing was a demon trying to take over the world."  
  
"It wasn't you, Angel. Or Connor. Or even Spike, really." She paused for a moment to consider. "Okay, part of it was Spike; specifically you knowing about Spike. About Spike and me."  
  
She had to fight to keep her gaze focused on his face. No more running away, no more hiding in the shadows.  
  
"I won't lie; it was a...a nasty shock," he admitted. "I still haven't quite processed it yet, but...I'm not going to judge you Buffy, if that's what you think. I'm the last person fit to do that. And I'm sorry if my temper got the best of me for a little while; I know I said some things I shouldn't have..."  
  
"Angel, no," she immediately protested.  
  
"Yes," he said firmly. "I may have spent less horizontal time with Darla, but I let her rule my life as much as you let Spike take over yours...and for pretty much the same reasons, I think. We were both tired of being scared, and lonely, and helpless, but it seemed easier to find someone to turn those feelings up a notch than it did to fix things."  
  
She nodded, no longer afraid to succumb to the lure of his brown eyes. "There isn't a way to fix what needs fixing; it just has to be lived with. And I thought I got out of all that...until Willow brought me back."  
  
"I can't quite find it in me to be totally sorry about that one, Buffy." He smiled and squeezed her hand. "I don't want to find that way to live with it alone anymore."  
  
For a moment he thought he had moved too fast, presumed too much, but the soft smile that blossomed on her face gave him hope.  
  
"Bet you say that to all the girls," she teased. She was still a little too shaky to echo his faith in their future, but she thought a little humor would buy her some time. At least she thought that until she saw the smile fall from his face, and felt his hands gently release her own.  
  
"Buffy," he said, awkwardly shifting in his seat, "maybe I'm rushing things a little. There are still some more things we need to talk about when it comes to the past, before we can start thinking about the future."  
  
"Well, yeah, sure," she uneasily agreed. Three years without Angel and she could still ready his body language so well it hurt. She suddenly remembered his earlier comment about trying to move on, specifically that he'd tried moving on 'with someone new'.  
  
There had been someone else, someone not Darla.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"You know that I love you," he began. "Nothing has ever changed that."  
  
"Angel, this is starting to sound like the beginning of a sentence I'm really not up for this evening." Buffy started to stand up. "Maybe we should..." She suddenly realized she was poised for flight yet again. "Maybe we should sit down while you finish your sentence," she said unhappily, taking her place beside him once more.  
  
"After Darla left...no, I guess this really goes back to when she came to LA. I really wanted to help her; maybe I thought it would complete some weird cycle if I could help save the soul of the one who stole mine. I'm not really sure." He shook his head, trying to clear away the host of memories assaulting his inner eye. "Anyway, I was convinced that I was the only one who could save her, and I was convinced she wanted to be saved. Turns out I was wrong on both counts."  
  
"So Darla with soul..."  
  
"Was not substantially different from the soulless variety," he agreed with a bitter smile. "She...I was going to say she alienated me from my friends, but the truth was I did it to myself."  
  
Buffy nodded unhappily. "Been there."  
  
"I pushed away everyone and everything I could, thinking I was trying to keep her from getting to me. Instead, I gave up every anchor to this world I had."  
  
She squeezed his hand. "Not all of them."  
  
Angel stared at the small, strong hand gripping his so fiercely. Would she still stand by him so staunchly when she knew it all, he wondered.  
  
"I almost lost everything," he continued steadily, clinging to his chosen anchor with all his might. "But when I slept with her, I guess I hit the rock-bottom addicts talk about." He suddenly lifted his head, adding anxiously, "Don't...don't ever tell Connor I said that. Please."  
  
"I won't." She sketched an 'X' across her breast with her free hand. "Cross my heart and hope to not to be resurrected." She smiled ruefully as her hand fell once more to her lap. "No good to make promises on dying; I never seem to stay that way for long."  
  
Angel didn't seem to hear her; he was sinking fast into the quagmire of past mistakes and bitter memories.  
  
"I wasn't sure they would take me back after all that I said and did. I wouldn't have blamed them if they didn't." His broad shoulders rose and then fell under his thin silk shirt as a ghost of a smile drifted across his face. "But they let me back into their lives, and slowly they began to forgive me. It wasn't easy, but I appreciated the chance and I wasn't going to blow it."  
  
She hesitantly raised her hand to brush her fingertips down the plane of his cool cheek. One thing, at least, had not changed; he still seemed to have no idea how beautiful he was, inside and out.  
  
"I think they were the lucky ones to get another chance," she murmured.  
  
He closed his eyes and took an instant to savor the feel of her soft hand against his skin. No matter how much time and distance separated them, the slightest touch from Buffy seemed to make his dead heart do somersaults in his chest.  
  
"I wanted to make things easier for them; I wanted to reassure them that I would never lose control like that again. I guess I wanted to reassure myself too. So I worked hard at being just a regular guy."  
  
She shook her head, a small chuckle escaping as her fingers continued down the line of his throat. "You could never be a regular guy."  
  
"You'd be surprised." He swiftly reached up and caught her hand as it touched the collar of his shirt. Pressing a tender kiss to her fingertips, he reluctantly continued, "After Connor came it became even more important to play the human game. I can never give him a completely normal childhood, but I knew there were a lot of things I could give him, and me, if I was willing to."  
  
She was abruptly reminded of where this conversation began. "You mean things like...a mother?"  
  
He nodded, gritting his teeth when he saw the pain flash through her eyes. "I wanted that for him. As for me...I wanted to stop hurting. I wanted to stop falling asleep wondering where you were and what you were doing. I wanted to stop waking up looking for you on the other side of the bed because that's were I always felt like you belonged." Angel paused to draw in a rasping breath. "I wanted to stop wondering every time the phone rang if it was you needing me, and most of all I wanted to stop needing you, because I was sure you were really gone from my life this time."  
  
She fought to control her voice as she promised, "Never gonna happen."  
  
"For a while, I didn't believe that. The only thing I was sure of was that there was a woman already in my life who accepts what I am and what I've done...who loves my son and, in her way, loves me too."  
  
Buffy forced air through her suddenly frozen body. Everything he'd said tonight...the way he touched her hand...the way he smiled at her...it couldn't have all been about good-bye.  
  
"Who?" she whispered.  
  
He doggedly avoided the question; there was still more to the confession than just a name.  
  
"I convinced myself that I loved her...more than that, that I was in love with her. And earlier tonight I worked up the nerve to tell her." A part of him wanted to laugh at his foolishness, but then the moonlight sparkled off of the tears on his beloved's lashes and he felt more like cutting out his tongue. "It was probably the luckiest mistake I ever made because she didn't believe a word of it."  
  
"She who?" Buffy insisted.  
  
He gritted his teeth and prepared for the meltdown.  
  
"Cordelia."  
  
* * * * *  
  
To Be Continued 


	3. Chapter 3

Heal Me  
  
Part 3  
  
By Gem  
  
  
  
Buffy blinked a few times as her jaw worked up and down, trying to wrap both mind and lips around the unexpected name.  
  
"Cordelia?" she finally choked out. "Cordelia Chase?"  
  
"The one and only," Angel said lightly, and hated himself a moment later for his flippancy.  
  
"But that's not pos..." she sputtered. "It just doesn't make sen...Cordy?"  
  
Her tone begged for a denial, but Angel could only offer reluctant confirmation.  
  
"Yes, Cordy."  
  
"Oh this is just way too weird even by my standards...and this is Return From the Dead Girl talking." She blew a hissing sigh between her teeth. "I mean, sure, Darla pulls her dust together and gets pregnant after she becomes a vampire for the second time; that I can buy. But you and Cordy?" Her voice rose to an indignant squeak.  
  
"Buffy, she's not the same person you remember," he said defensively. "She's been a really good friend to me the past few years, especially since Connor was born."  
  
"How good?" she snapped.  
  
"Not...like that," he answered uncomfortably. In at least one instance, he knew it hadn't been for lack of trying. "But she's known me long enough to know when she can push, and when to back off, and some of my...quirkier...habits don't faze her. That takes a lot of the stress off of me trying to fit in." He shrugged helplessly. "She's...I don't know...familiar. Safe."  
  
"Safe?" she repeated incredulously. "The girl who called herself the slayer of the dating world?"  
  
"And how long ago was that, Buffy?" He cocked an eyebrow at her, as though he really expected an answer. "You've barely talked to her in the last three years. People grow up. They change."  
  
She drew one shaky breath, and then another, trying to hold back the unexpected wave of jealousy surging through her veins. All right, she admitted, it wasn't totally unexpected, not the jealousy part anyway. She had always been a little possessive when it came to Angel. But it had been a long time since she'd thought Cordelia posed any threat.  
  
"Maybe I shouldn't have even brought it up," he continued, "but...I wanted to be honest with you."  
  
"Yeah, well, gotta love that honesty thing. It's always worked out so well for us in the past," she reminded him with a grimace.  
  
Angel stubbornly shook his head. "It's the only way we'll get a future," he insisted.  
  
A future; he wanted a future. With her. Not with Cordelia, but with her. Buffy hung on to that idea with all her slayer strength, holding it as counterweight against almost every other damning word coming from her beloved's mouth.  
  
"You said she didn't believe you," she prompted, now looking for some positive aspect of the situation, if such a thing actually existed. "Did she...she didn't laugh, did she? Because I might have to hurt her if she...wait, why am I defending you?" She waited a beat. "And...do I need to defend you?"  
  
He shook his head again, still sporting that mystified little half-smirk that was starting to annoy her. He seemed to actually find something amusing in this whole disaster, though for the life of her Buffy couldn't see what that might be.  
  
"She didn't laugh, but she did think I was joking at first," he admitted. "Then she thought I was crazy. But when I told her about...about the last time I saw you...she knew."  
  
Buffy's eyes narrowed as she pulled her hands free of Angel's clasp. "How much did you tell her?"  
  
"Not details," he hastily assured her. "Mostly it was just how I felt...when you didn't believe my soul was secure."  
  
"You know why I didn't!" she protested. Suddenly she couldn't sit still one minute longer; she stood up and began to rapidly pace back and forth in front of the stone bench. "It had nothing to do with you; it was me."  
  
"And I know that now, but not then. You wouldn't talk to me," he reminded her. "I spent the whole drive down to meet you planning our future, because curse or no curse I wasn't going to let you go ever again; I couldn't."  
  
He reached out a hand and caught her arm as she strode past, swinging her around to face him.  
  
"But you never gave me a chance to say half the things I wanted to say," Angel continued, "and then when I tried to tell you the curse obviously wasn't an issue, you didn't believe me. I understand now, but at the time it..." he looked blindly at the moonlit graveyard, seeing only visions of the past, "it felt like you didn't want it to be real...that once we really could be together, you didn't want to be."  
  
"Like I didn't?" she flared, yanking her arm free. "Who left who?"  
  
"That was a long time ago, and I still think I did the right thing. We both needed time to find more strength within ourselves before we could be any good to each other."  
  
"And this all somehow led you to a mad passion for Cordelia?" She smacked her hand to her head and choked out a harsh laugh. "And I thought it was bad enough that I slept with Spike. At least I never pretended I loved him."  
  
"I never made love to Cordelia," he said steadily, forcing down any comments about the debatable virtue of sex without love. "I never even tried to...at least not as me. There was this one time with the ghosts of two...never mind; it's not important."  
  
"Maybe I should be the judge of that." Buffy tossed her head, but the effect was just not the same with her shorter hair, leaving her no physical way to express her distaste but to stalk back and forth like an agitated lioness.  
  
"I'm sorry if you're angry with me, but I haven't done anything I'm ashamed of." Angel paused, and then reconsidered his statement. "Except maybe for trying to use a friend as an easy way out of being lonely. You tell yourself that you're reaching out to someone, and that's a good thing. A healthy thing."  
  
His dark eyes followed every restless movement of Buffy's body as he puzzled out his motivations for both of their sakes. He needed to understand all this almost as badly as she did.  
  
"Trouble is, what you're really doing is hiding behind them so the rest of the world will stop...expecting...things from you once they can't single you out from the crowd."  
  
Buffy abruptly flung herself back down onto the bench, her burgeoning anger deflated by his last words. This was all so confusing and...wrong. All she had wanted was to share her life with Angel, and instead they had ended up living almost the same life in two different cities.  
  
"Well I wouldn't call Spike a friend by any stretch of the dictionary," she grudgingly allowed, "but I suppose I can't say I did much better." She laughed sharply. "And we won't even touch on the Riley subject."  
  
"Buffy, no. I mean, yes...but no." Angel was forced to stop and regroup, watching her with deep concern as he searched for the right words to express himself. "I mean yes...probably...with Riley. But Spike? That's not even close. You didn't use Spike; if anything, he used you."  
  
"You weren't there; you didn't see."  
  
"But I know you," he insisted. "Look, I know you weren't raised as a Catholic, but do you know why the Church considers suicide a mortal sin?"  
  
She shook her head, her brow furrowing as she tried to see the parallel he was drawing.  
  
"A suicide is supposed to be prompted by despair," he explained. "Despair, in Church terms, is when you abandon all hope of salvation and turn your back on everything you believe in, on God himself."  
  
"Herself," she automatically corrected.  
  
He waved away the technicalities. "When Willow brought you back, and you had to face the loss of heaven, and your mother, and all the dreams of the future that you'd hung onto for so long...you despaired. And Spike saw that, and he took advantage of it for his own reasons."  
  
Angel didn't bother to delve into Spike's reasons; he'd known his wayward childe long enough to guess at most of them, and none of them stacked up against the damage he'd done to Buffy.  
  
"Angel, it wasn't easy for me to face what I was doing with Spike, but I did it." Buffy took a deep breath, reminding herself that it was, at least and at last, all in the past. "Our...whatever you want to call it...was ugly and stupid and self-destructive, and I admit a part of me knew that all along; I just...didn't care enough about myself to stop, I guess. But you're taking something away from what I've learned if you make it out like it was all his fault." She leaned forward and looked intently into his eyes. "I messed up. Me. Not only me...but me."  
  
He didn't want to believe that; he wanted so badly for it to be all some manipulation of Spike's. He knew the larger part of it was, but he wanted the vampire to be completely to blame. If he wasn't the only one at fault, then Angel had to admit that at least a little of the light and innocence he had hoped to preserve for his beloved by leaving, she had sacrificed of her own free will.  
  
"It's just hard for me to admit that..."  
  
"That I'm not perfect?" she broke in. "I know; quite the shocker, isn't it?" She shrugged and smiled at the sad truth. "Look, it doesn't matter anyway whose fault the Spike disaster was. What matters to me right now is that you," she could barely make herself say it, "fell in love with Cordelia."  
  
"I never said that; I said I managed to convince myself I did." He risked reaching out to take her hand in his; to his relief she let him. "And without even knowing it, you made me realize I'd been an idiot."  
  
"I never said that," she quickly pointed out in turn.  
  
"You didn't have to." He felt something loosen in his chest; suddenly he felt freer for the honesty that now lay between them, painful though it had been, and still was. "It was written all over your face, and even the dark can't hide your face from me."  
  
"And does my face also tell you where we're supposed to go from here?" she asked ruefully. "Or should we go raid the Magic Box for tea leaves?"  
  
"Where do you want to go from here?" he asked carefully, hoping he already knew the answer.  
  
She was silent for a moment, trying to marshal the courage to ask a very important question one last time. Perhaps now, after so much dirty laundry had been aired, she would get the complete response.  
  
"Why did you really come tonight, Angel?"  
  
"I asked you first," he said quickly.  
  
"Angel, please, just tell me," she begged. "No sweet nothings necessary this time; no ego boosts or lollipops for the emotionally damaged, just a straight answer. Why?"  
  
He didn't want to do this now. The worst had been said, and apparently forgiven; couldn't the fine points wait for a later time?  
  
"I told you; I wanted to set things straight between us."  
  
"Because you wanted to clean up the past before you started over with Cordy," Buffy wearily corrected him. "That was the real reason, wasn't it?"  
  
Reluctantly, he surrendered to the inevitable.  
  
"I thought so when I started out," he answered quietly. "I've gotten pretty good at fooling myself, or maybe I was just always gifted that way. But when I look at you...everything else just falls away." He couldn't help his gentle chuckle. "I know everyone always thinks I can't see straight when it comes to you, but the truth is that being with you, or even the thought of being with you, makes everything crystal clear."  
  
"That makes one of us," she sighed.  
  
"Why do you think I try to stay away from you, Buffy?" He traced the line of her jaw with one cool fingertip. "It's not because you cloud my thoughts; it's because I can see everything so well, and sometimes that scares the hell out of me."  
  
To any other woman it might not have sounded romantic, but to Buffy it was poetry. Still, experience had taught her to look for the cloud wrapped around the silver lining.  
  
"And what happens when you go back to LA? Because you will go back; you have to. We both know that."  
  
"That's what I want to know too. I was ready to commit myself to you months ago, when I first found out you were alive again. And as much as I've tried to pretend I got over that idea, I never really gave it up. Not in here." He lightly thumped his fist against his chest. "Do you remember what I said to you the night of your birthday?"  
  
She nodded; there was no need to ask which birthday.  
  
"I love you," he confessed, as he had that rainy night so many years ago. "I try not to...but I can't stop."  
  
She should have been thinking of Cordelia, of Connor, of Dawn, of her duties and his, but in this moment all she could think of was that night, and this man. Everything had seemed possible for them then, and for some crazy reason he still believed it could be possible now. No matter what, or who, had passed between them in the meantime, she could still give no other answer than the one she had offered the night of her 17th birthday.  
  
"I can't either," she whispered, leaning over to kiss him.  
  
She'd had a lot more experience in kissing since the last time they were together; she'd had a lot more experience in a lot of things she wasn't too anxious to tell him about. But the way Buffy felt when Angel's arms were wound around her, and his chest pressed hard against her own, and his lips softly moved against hers...none of that had anything to do with any man she'd ever known but him.  
  
With Spike, even with Riley, it had all been about the physical sensation. She'd tried so hard to sublimate the pain in her heart with other pleasurable sensations. But with Angel there was no question of diversion, only of a slow and merciful healing.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Angel broke the kiss at last, when he dimly perceived that Buffy's labored breaths had become less a matter of passion and more a matter of oxygen- deprivation. He couldn't bear to release her so soon, however, and even as she buried her head in his shoulder he continued to worship the tender skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.  
  
"You're cold," he murmured against her throat. "We should go back."  
  
"Not yet," she protested, wrapping her arms tighter around his chest. "Back is...bad. Responsibilities...sacred duties...nosy sisters. Bad."  
  
He chuckled, blowing a puff of cool air against her suddenly overheated skin as he nuzzled behind her ear. "I have to check on Connor sometime," he reminded her. "And you have no coat."  
  
She sighed and pulled back slightly in his embrace, just far enough to allow her to look at him. A shaft of moonlight broke through the passing clouds and silvered the dark spikes of his hair. Below, his face glowed dimly, every feature already etched on her heart beyond the need for eyes to verify.  
  
"You're supposed to give me yours," she pointed out, smiling at the memory.  
  
"Sorry; took off too fast to grab it."  
  
The unintentional reminder of her flight into the night succeeded in dampening Buffy's romantic ardor where the chill evening air had failed. After she carefully slid her legs off of Angel's, she cupped his pale face in her hands. She needed to look into his eyes as she made her apology; she needed to know that he absorbed every word so he would know her escape had nothing to do with him.  
  
"I shouldn't have run out like that; I'm the one who's sorry. I was handling the idea of Connor, and I think I could have taken the Spike talk, but when you explained about the magick being permanent...and changing me...I, umm, freaked."  
  
"I really thought Giles would have explained by now." He could kick himself for not making sure of his facts beforehand; he would never forget the devastation in her eyes when she learned the change was permanent.  
  
"He probably figured I wouldn't take it too well," she suggested, laughing sharply. "Can't imagine where he'd get that idea."  
  
"Buffy, it really doesn't make you anything less. You're more now, something extra. And you can use that something extra to help you stay alive." He clasped his hands over hers against his cheeks. "We need you to do that."  
  
She didn't ask him to explain who 'we' was; there was only one true 'we' in Angel's life right now, and hopefully the other half of it was sound asleep by now in the arms of Auntie Dawn. It gave Buffy a warm glow that Angel fit her so effortlessly into the picture, though it still didn't change her problem.  
  
"I'm not planning on going anywhere soon, Angel, but I wish I knew more about the me that I'm turning into while I'm here." Her hands fell away from his face, balling up into fists as they descended to her lap. "I mean I've seen what magick can do to you, the damage it can cause if you let it too deep under your skin. And yet you're telling me it's already under mine whether I like it or not, and it's only going to get worse. That scares me."  
  
"It's not the physical part that's worrying you, is it?" he guessed shrewdly. "You still think there's something wrong with your soul, even though the magick is really only affecting your body."  
  
"You say it's just my body," she said, "but how can you be sure? You said this magick gave me prophetic dreams; what, are they supposed to come from eating a certain type of cheese doodle or something? There has to be something in my soul too. And it's getting bigger."  
  
She bit her lip and reached up to twist a lock of her hair around her fingers as Angel struggled to find the wisdom he needed to help her cope. He wanted to offer a hug and a kiss to make everything all better, but the only one that truly worked on was Connor. She needed more than love, and she needed more than words.  
  
"Come on," he said, getting to his feet. He held his hand down in front of her bemused face. "Come on," Angel repeated with a hint of his old cryptic smile. "I'm not getting any older, but you're not getting any younger. Let's go."  
  
She sighed; obviously romance was already taking a back seat to child-care.  
  
"You're right." She reluctantly stood up. "Connor needs his daddy and Dawn probably needs a teenager's version of Valium right now - a pint of Cherry Garcia and a spoon."  
  
"Actually I had something a little less domestic in mind." He checked his watch. "You gave Spike the boot about an hour ago, so I estimate Willie is already serving him his third shot of Bushmill's and blood right about now." Angel noticed her involuntary shudder. "Oh, sorry; I guess I'm kind of used to talking about the blood thing now. I didn't think..."  
  
"No, it's not that," she said quickly, resting her hand on his arm as she gazed earnestly up into his eyes. "It's the whiskey...I really have bad memories...that is I really have really fuzzy bad memories...of whiskey and Spike and, umm, gambling for kittens. Not me gambling," she added hastily. "I was, well, I was a little too busy with the whiskey...hence the peach fuzz on those memories."  
  
"He was gambling for...never mind." He shook his head sharply as he slipped his hand around hers. "We're going to find him, and prop him up if necessary, and let him take a swing at me. Then we can go home and..."  
  
"Wait, no," she interrupted. "Angel, why? Why let him take a swing at you? Shouldn't you be doing the swinging?" She was grateful for the dim light of the cloud-covered moon as she felt a flush steal over her cheeks. Even so, she glanced away as she asked, "Not that I want to be fought over or anything, but isn't that...isn't that how it's done?"  
  
Angel kept one hand firmly wrapped around hers, and with the other he gently turned her face towards him. "I have no need to fight over you; you're a big girl and you make your own choices. But I do need to prove to you that Spike can hit a not-entirely human body with a very human soul inside, and not feel anything but glee."  
  
* * * * *  
  
She stared at him and blinked her eyes for a few times, but he still didn't go 'poof' or turn into a giant electrical bill. He was real, not a dream, and thus what she just heard was also real.  
  
"You're going to let Spike take a swing at you to prove there's nothing wrong with me?" she asked slowly. "Angel, that's...that's sweet, it really is. But, umm, how exactly will that prove anything about me? I mean, you and I are alike in a lot of ways, but physically," she glanced down at her body skeptically, "we're kind of not at all."  
  
"And trust me, I'm not complaining." His teasing tone only lasted a moment, however. "Look, my body was human too, once upon a time. I admit it was upon a long time, but in some ways my body is still human; it just functions a little differently because of the demon inside me."  
  
"As in, that's why it still functions," she said gently.  
  
"Because I have something extra in me," he agreed. "But my soul is human; nothing very special."  
  
"Now there we definitely disagree."  
  
He couldn't resist pressing a quick kiss to her forehead for that comment. Actually he would have preferred aiming a little lower on her face, but he didn't want to get distracted from his purpose.  
  
"If Spike can hit me, with my human-plus body and human soul, and he doesn't feel any pain, won't that convince you that the only reason he can hit you now is because the magick used to resurrect you changed your body somehow?"  
  
She considered the question from all angles, coming to a grinding halt at one particular outcome. "And what if he does feel pain?"  
  
Angel smiled crookedly at her. "Then your soul is even more special than I remembered."  
  
"What am I going to do with you?" she asked, pretending his answer exasperated her rather than making her knees shake. "No matter what I say, you're going to stand there and let Spike take a poke at you and not even defend yourself just to..."  
  
"I didn't say I wouldn't defend myself." Angel's tender smile turned a little colder as he interrupted her. His anger was under control, but only time would smooth the sharp edges that cut into his soul. "I'll let him get his punch in, but I can't very well let him get away without getting mine in as well."  
  
"Angel."  
  
He shrugged and feigned innocence. "It wouldn't be safe for him to get the reputation of being able to take me down. My name still carries a certain...cachet...among the demon community. If it got out that Spike beat me, he'd be facing more trouble than he can handle." A wicked grin lit his eyes. "It wouldn't be fair to him."  
  
"You're all heart," she drawled, but her own eyes shone like twin sparklers a minute later as an opportunity occurred to her. "Ooo, if you get to punch Spike, does that mean I can take a swing at Cordy? I'll even let her go first."  
  
Angel's gloating expression fast became a frown as he gazed sternly down at his beloved. "No, we're going to leave Cordelia out of this. She didn't do anything to come on to me, Buffy; I made up the whole relationship myself based on the time we spent together."  
  
"If that's supposed to make me not want to punch her," Buffy shook her head, "then you still have a lot to learn about women."  
  
He cocked his head to the side; trying to think of the best way to explain a madness he was still grappling to understand himself.  
  
"For a hundred years, the only human emotions I knew were guilt and shame. But after spending the last six years loving you, I feel so much I can't always keep all the emotions straight. I got confused." Angel paused for an instant to emphasize his coda. "She didn't."  
  
"Oh, all right," she grumbled, "I guess I can live without punching her lights out...even if now I'm kind of mad she thought there was something wrong with having you like her. I mean there was," she added hastily, not wanting to give him any ideas. "But that's for me to say, not Cordelia."  
  
"Can we just go find Spike?" Angel pleaded. "It's way past Connor's bedtime, and I'm not sure if he'll go down without his usual routine."  
  
"I suppose," she sighed, slipping her arm through his. "But you know a bar fight really loses something when it has to be finished up before night- nights."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Spike pushed the empty shot glass across the bar, already impatient for Willie to finish serving the two Charleth demons at the far end. He'd asked for the bottle, both bottles actually, but Willie didn't trust demons not to use the libations as weapons, and the little human hated cleaning blood up off the floor. So here he sat, William the Bloody, waiting for a human to give a damn that he was thirsty. Waiting for a human to give a damn that he was all alone. Waiting for a certain human to realize she'd made the biggest mistake of what was going to be a bloody short life and come crawling back to him, begging for his forgiveness. Not that he'd give it, of course; she didn't deserve it. But how he wanted to hear that begging.  
  
"Willie!" he barked, suddenly reduced to a bit of begging himself. "Can't you see when a man's thirsty, damn you?"  
  
"And just what would that have to do with you?" asked a voice from a few feet behind him.  
  
Spike closed his eyes and shook his head. Simply marvelous. As though the night hadn't been bad enough already, now Angelus was crowding him out of his chosen refuge. No, wait; he'd already done that earlier tonight. Now he was going for Spike's last refuge.  
  
"What's the matter, Spike? Chip got your tongue?"  
  
Spike spun around on the bar stool, realizing an instant too late that he should have opened his eyes first. The world continued on a sickening slide even after his feet slammed down to stop the rotation, and he had all he could do to keep his liquid solace from making a return trip up his esophagus.  
  
"Angel! Slayer!" Willie called out anxiously, scurrying back to Spike's end of the bar. "Hey, long time no see, my friend. How's the big city treating you? Bet you haven't found any establishments as fine as this one...though if you have I'm sure you treat them and their patrons...and their owners...with the utmost respect and..."  
  
"Relax, Willie," Angel drawled. "We're not here to make trouble; we just want to settle a little...dispute."  
  
"You know, they have these things called courthouses," Willie said quickly. "What you do is you get yourself a lawyer and you...did you just growl? Because I don't think I've ever heard you growl before and..."  
  
"Do not mention lawyers," Angel snapped, his calm momentarily deserting him.  
  
Buffy laid her hand on his arm, squeezing it in silent warning. "It's kind of a sore subject," she told Willie.  
  
Angel took a deep breath and focused his attention once again on the issue at hand: Spike.  
  
"I'm just here to ask my friend Spike a favor." Angel tried to keep his tone light and unthreatening, but he couldn't help the bitterness that welled up into the last few words.  
  
"Sure, mate; what ya' need?" Spike could feel his head beginning to clear already, from the combined forces of anger and his vampiric constitution. Still, it wouldn't hurt to play the drunken sot a bit longer to keep his sire off guard. "You've already taken my girl; need to borrow my crypt too? She kind of likes the cold stone against her..."  
  
His final words were cut off by a hand on his throat, but it was not Angel's fingers that flattened his windpipe and drove Spike to his knees. Buffy leaned in very close, her breath flowing sweetly over his face as she whispered in the ear that wasn't being jammed against the edge of the bar.  
  
"If you stop with the gutter mouth this minute, you might not end up clogging one up the next time it rains." She stepped back, releasing his throat, though he could see she was poised to strike again if she believed it warranted. "Now we need you to settle a little argument for us. Do it, and we can all walk out of here tonight."  
  
Spike rubbed his throat ostentatiously as he got to his feet. "What kind of favor are we talking about?"  
  
"Punch me."  
  
It was not the reply Spike had been expecting from Angel.  
  
"You want me to do what?" Spike pounded his fist against his ear. "Must be going deaf in my old age. I thought you were inviting me to have a whack at you."  
  
Angel crossed his arms over his chest, fixing his errant progeny in his cold gaze. "I am. One punch." He held up his index finger. "One."  
  
Spike nodded sagely, now onto their game. "Sure, and then Little Miss Death Warmed Over will pop out a stake and I'll be soot on the peanut shells before I can pull my fist back."  
  
Buffy raised her hands in the air, showing Spike her empty palms. "No stakes; I promise." The hands came down as she clarified her position. "This is, however, a one-time deal. As soon as we walk out of this bar tonight, we're back to the old rules: you touch him and you die. Painfully."  
  
"Come on, Spike. Time's a wasting." Angel tapped his foot impatiently. "Buffy's promised not to stake you, and I won't even hit back. You get one good punch, no strings attached. What do you have to lose?"  
  
"You won't hit back? Am I supposed to believe that?"  
  
"Up to you." Angel shrugged; he preferred to remain noncommittal on this point, but he had no qualms about lying if that was what it would take to ensure Spike's cooperation. "But you heard Buffy; it's a one-time offer. Take the chance now or lose it forever."  
  
Spike didn't believe a word of it. There was a trick hidden somewhere in the offer; he was sure of it. But by now the whole bar was watching the floorshow, waiting to see him back down. Either way he was screwed, and these were the demons he had to face every day, unlike the ringer from out of town. Keeping that thought firmly in mind, he slowly stood up and aimed his fist at Angel's nose. Even though the injury wouldn't last long, he wanted to make sure it was a disgusting one.  
  
The punch was swift, and harder than Angel had expected, given Spike's inebriated condition. The older vampire rocked back on his heels from the force of the blow as the pain shot through his nerve endings and screamed all the way up to his brain.  
  
Buffy only had eyes for Spike.  
  
"Did that hurt?" she asked anxiously, all but x-raying his face with her burning eyes.  
  
Spike couldn't help but smile, despite the pain in his hand. "Thought you didn't care?" he murmured, chafing his reddened fingers with his other palm. Fingers reddened with Angel's blood, but Buffy still didn't seem to be concerned about that factor.  
  
"Your head, idiot," she snapped. "Did that hurt your head?"  
  
Spike reached up to touch his skull, momentarily puzzled by her question, and by the growing coldness in her voice. "I hit him with my fist, luv, not with my head. That won't hurt till the whiskey wears off."  
  
Buffy slowly turned to face Angel, a small smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. "Guess you're pretty proud of yourself."  
  
Angel slid his long arm past her to grab a cocktail napkin from the end of the bar. "I'm not sure 'pride' is the word for it," he admitted ruefully as he gingerly pressed the napkin to his nose.  
  
Spike was completely baffled when Buffy threw her arms around Angel's neck, heedless of the blood dripping out of his nose once she'd pushed his arm, and the napkin, aside. Angel's arms automatically came up again, but to hold her fast, not push her away.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered into her lover's neck. "You didn't have to...but thank you."  
  
"I'd say this was worth a bloody nose," he murmured, brushing his cheek against the soft curtain of her hair before he reluctantly let her go. "But since I seem to be dripping that blood onto your shoulder, maybe we better save this for a little later."  
  
"If you insist," she sighed, stepping back and reaching for another napkin to replace the used one he held in his hand. "Are we done here?" she asked, gently pressing the fresh paper against his nose.  
  
"That's up to you." He blotted his blood from her shoulder. "Do you feel better now?"  
  
She nodded, pulling the napkin away from his face and noting with relief that the bleeding had already almost stopped.  
  
"Then I think we're done," Angel said.  
  
"Oh I don't think so, mate." Spike glared at his sire, Angel now the sudden recipient of attention that rightfully belonged to Spike. "Just what the hell is going on here?"  
  
Angel smiled at him, a cold smile that brought an even deeper chill to Spike's bones than his own blood.  
  
"Just correcting a little misunderstanding you helped to perpetuate." Angel's tone sounded pleasant and mild...at least to anyone who hadn't seen him decimate a small town with every bit as much good humor. "Now that we have, I think we'll be going."  
  
Angel turned and took Buffy's arm. "After you," he said, gesturing towards the door. She looked curiously at him, but willingly started to walk beside him towards the exit. After a few steps, however, Angel stopped and snapped his fingers.  
  
"Almost forgot something," he explained as he released Buffy's arm. A lightning quick turn and two long strides took him right back to Spike, who went flying into a nearby table an instant after Angel's fist shot out and caught the younger vampire hard on the jaw. Angel regarded the limp form on the floor with grim satisfaction.  
  
"Now I feel better too."  
  
* * * * *  
  
They took the long way home, walking slowly as they caught up on the little day-to-day inconsequentials that they had missed in each other's lives the past three years. As much as Angel wanted to get back and check on Connor, he was almost sorry when they finally reached Buffy's front porch; the walk had been a restful interlude that seemed to exist out of time, free of the cares and woes they normally carried with them.  
  
"I guess this is where we stop," he said regretfully as they climbed the porch steps.  
  
"We're home, if that's what you mean," she answered lightly, trying to read the expression on his pale face in the flickering of the faulty porch light.  
  
Angel squeezed Buffy's hand tightly and tried not to picture his empty room back at the Hyperion. Until a few hours ago, he had called that home, but now he was unsure.  
  
"I wonder if Dawn got Connor to sleep," he mused, glancing at the front door that separated Buffy's world from his. "If she did, I almost hate to wake him, but..."  
  
"Then don't," Buffy said quickly. She lifted the hand that was intertwined with Angel's and pressed it to her heart. "I don't want you to leave, Angel; at least not yet. Stay a few days and we can really talk...about the future, not just the past this time."  
  
Angel raised his free hand to brush her cheek. "I want to," he admitted, the huskiness in his voice betraying how much he truly did. "I want you to get to know Connor, and I want to get to know you again."  
  
"I want that too; both parts."  
  
His hand fell to his side, but the look in Angel's eyes offered almost as palpable of a caress as his cool fingertips. His next words might have worried her, if not for that melting gaze.  
  
"But I don't want to rush things this time," he warned. "There are too many other people and things to consider now...Connor, Dawn, your friends, my friends, your calling, my business. We have to be careful, not like...before."  
  
She nodded. "I know. Strange as it sounds, I think we actually had it easier when our biggest problem was the trapdoor on your curse."  
  
"Which might still be there; we can't be sure yet. When I thought it was the Powers I felt a little more secure, but knowing it was Dawn..." He shrugged and smiled apologetically. "I think we'd better take a look at that protection spell and make sure it doesn't come with an expiration date before we test it out."  
  
Buffy drew a deep breath; she'd been thinking the same thing, but that didn't mean she still wasn't a little disappointed.  
  
"Agreed. But in the meantime..."  
  
"In the meantime, we can...catch up, before we...catch up." Angel's smile was tender as he leaned down to capture her lips in a kiss that left them both weak in the knees.  
  
"Whoa," Buffy whispered several minutes later, as she leaned against Angel's chest and tried to catch her breath. "We better take our time quickly, if you know what I mean."  
  
"Maybe we should go in," Angel murmured, burying his face in the living gold of her hair. "Too much temptation when I have you all to myself...under the stars...in the moonlight..."  
  
She stepped back hastily and grabbed for the doorknob. "Okay, we have to focus," Buffy said breathlessly. "Baby. Teenager."  
  
Angel winced as another thought occurred to him. "Phone call to make," he added to the list with a groan.  
  
Buffy cocked her head to the side, momentarily diverted from passion by curiosity. "Phone call?"  
  
"I, uh, need to call LA and let them know we won't be back for a few days." Angel paused, debating the wisdom of sharing his real motivation. In the end, he decided only honesty would suffice. "And I have to tell Cordelia she was right."  
  
Buffy drew her breath sharply between her teeth, producing a hissing noise. "Yikes. Didn't I make you do enough time in hell already?"  
  
"Buffy, I can't leave things the way they were. She might think...well, I'd rather admit I was an idiot than have her confused about where we stand." He cocked an eyebrow at his beloved. "You don't want her to get the wrong idea, do you?"  
  
Buffy turned the doorknob so quickly that it snapped off in her hand. She didn't even seem to notice it dangling between her fingers as she pointed into the hallway with her other hand.  
  
"There's the phone; start dialing."  
  
* * * * *  
  
To Be Continued 


	4. Chapter 4

Heal Me  
  
Part 4  
  
By Gem  
  
  
  
They had only taken a few steps into the hallway when Dawn came flying out of the kitchen and skidded to a halt just inches away from Buffy.  
  
"You're home," the teenager said breathlessly. Her gaze flicked backed and forth between her sister and her sister's former lover. "Both of you," she added, a sly smile lighting her thin face.  
  
"Is Connor okay?" Angel asked. "Did he fall asleep yet?" He glanced into the darkened living room and down the hallway towards the kitchen, but he could see no signs of his offspring.  
  
Dawn snorted at his obvious concern, and even more apparent lack of common sense. "He conked out ages ago. I put him in Buffy's room." Her eyebrows drew together in a frown. "You're not going to wake him up now, are you, just so you can leave?"  
  
"No, actually Angel, that is Angel and Connor, are going to be staying a few days," Buffy said. "Staying here. With us." She could feel the blush beginning to color her cheeks as she stammered, and she didn't dare look at Angel to see how he was holding up.  
  
Dawn beamed like a fond parent at a child displaying an unexpected talent. "That's so great. I mean I knew Angel would have to come back to pick up Connor, but I was kind of hoping you guys would work things out and then we'd could all be," she shrugged, her smile suddenly becoming hesitant, "you know, like one big happy family."  
  
"Dawnie," Buffy said hastily, "we still have a lot of things to work out. Through. Whatever. Angel's not moving in or anything, we're just...getting back on track. Slowly," she added as a final warning.  
  
"I don't care what you say; I just like seeing you look happy again," Dawn said stoutly. "Real Buffy happy, not the 'bot version you do when you think anyone is watching you. I always thought it must hurt your face to force it to smile that much when it didn't want to."'  
  
Buffy leaned over and gave her sister a big hug, whispering into Dawn's ear, "You have no idea."  
  
"So Connor went down okay?" Angel took a few quick steps towards the staircase, anxiously glancing up it before he turned back to the Summers sisters. "I should probably go check on him."  
  
"I just looked in there, like, five minutes ago, but if you don't trust the babysitter..." Dawn trailed off suggestively, sharing a grin with Buffy.  
  
"It's not that." Angel looked stricken. "I trust you, Dawn. I just wanted to make sure, umm, that you...umm." His jaw reflexively clenched as he scrambled for an excuse, and tried to ignore Buffy's giggle. "Did you change him first? Before you put him down, I mean. Because I brought lots of spare diapers but he goes through..."  
  
Dawn held up her hands to ward off Angel's questions. "I changed him, and I even remembered to burp him again...and then he remembered to throw up half the bottle Buffy gave him." She tapped her foot several times for emphasis. "All over my new sweater."  
  
Angel grinned, feeling something tight within him relax at the sheer normality of the conversation. "Yeah, forgot to warn you about that. He's good for two or three pats, but anything more and..."  
  
"Hello Pompeii," Dawn finished gloomily. "I noticed."  
  
"It washes out, but I'll buy you a new sweater anyway," Angel promised. He looked quickly at Buffy, his brow furrowing as a new concern surfaced. "I just realized something; I only had one other outfit for him in that bag. If we're staying a few days, we're both going to need more clothes."  
  
Buffy gave herself a moment to enjoy the image that popped into her head when Angel mentioned a lack of clothing, but all too soon she was forced to rejoin the world of responsible adulthood. Delightful as the idea was, it would hardly be the thing to reenact the Garden of Paradise with her teenage sister in the house. Besides, there were some aspects of Angel that Buffy preferred to keep a mystery.  
  
To everyone but her, that is.  
  
"I'll go get him some things tomorrow," she promised, temporarily shelving her libido. "You too. I have to go out for a little while anyway because I need to stop by work and tell them I won't be stopping by anymore. As of tomorrow, Buffy is out of the burger biz."  
  
Dawn looked at her quizzically. "But I didn't think you'd found a new job yet."  
  
"I haven't." Buffy glanced over at Angel and smiled. "But sometimes you just have to leap first and trust that you'll land on your feet on the other side."  
  
"That's so sweet." Dawn sighed happily. "In a weird 'Evil Knevil jumps the hellmouth' sort of way."  
  
"Go to bed, Dawn." Buffy's smile hadn't faded in the slightest, but she had definitely returned from Planet Romance.  
  
"Am I going to be missing anything interesting?" her younger sister asked hopefully.  
  
"Only your social life for the next week if you don't go to bed this minute."  
  
Dawn turned on her heel, grumbling, "What social life?" as she marched up the steps.  
  
Buffy waited until Dawn had rounded the corner at the top of the stairs before she turned her attention back to Angel.  
  
"Okay, the phone is all yours, and I'll even leave you alone to make the call." She paused, desperately trying to appear casual as she added, "Unless you'd like me here for, you know, moral support or something. Because I'd be happy to stay."  
  
Angel grinned in spite of himself. "I'm sure you would...but I'll be fine on my own. They won't bite. Laugh, maybe...probably...," he sighed, "but they can't bite over the phone."  
  
Still she hesitated. "I...I can go check on Connor for you...if you're sure..."  
  
He didn't say anything this time, just cocked his head and smiled at her. She took the hint and left him alone to face his demons, otherwise known as his best friends.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The phone rang four times before anyone at the Hyperion picked it up, and then Angel wasn't expecting the voice he heard.  
  
"Angel Investigations," Lorne purred. "Just how big of a guardian angel are you looking for tonight?"  
  
Angel sighed; this was why Lorne wasn't supposed to be answering the phone. "Lorne," the vampire said patiently, "we've been over the way to answer the office calls. I don't want any more clients scared off thinking it's a 900 number they hit by accident."  
  
"Angel-cakes, you have to learn to relax a little. Have some fun with your holy mission."  
  
"Lorne, can I..."  
  
"Now, why the jingle to jangle my chain? Haven't you hit the lonesome highway yet?"  
  
"I'm trying to tell..." Angel frowned at the receiver. "Have you been watching westerns with Fred again? Wait, never mind; it doesn't matter." He sighed, collecting the thoughts scattered as only Lorne knew how to do. "I'm not coming back tonight; that's why I'm calling. We're going to be staying a few more days in Sunnydale."  
  
"You're staying in Sunnydale? For days, maybe even enough to fill a week?"  
  
"Maybe," Angel answered cautiously. Lorne's voice had suddenly gained in both volume and dramatic intensity, usually a good indicator of trouble in River City. And what was that noise in the background?  
  
"Lorne, what was that noise?"  
  
There was another noise on the LA end of the line, a muffled hissing sound this time, as though someone was being hushed. Then Lorne was back, asking brightly, "What noise?"  
  
"It sounded like...," Angel concentrated, trying to mentally reproduce the first questionable sound. "Like someone shouting 'yes' or 'yay.' Something like that."  
  
"Oh that noise. It was...it, uh, was. Gunn is, umm, watching a porno movie...you know these kids and pay-per-view...or maybe it's from one of those wannabe cable networks; they're almost as bad these days with the down and dirty. Anyway, they just got to the part where..."  
  
"Forget it," Angel said quickly. "I don't want to hear it."  
  
Lorne's chuckle was hastily turned into a cough, partially covering the sound of hurried footsteps in the background. "So, Sunnydale, huh? Can't tear yourself away?"  
  
Angel pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment and treated it to a suspicious frown; something strange was going on at the hotel and he couldn't figure out why Lorne was hiding it from him.  
  
"Why are you shouting? Who's there with you besides Gunn? And what was that...slapping noise?" He closed his eyes. "Or don't I want to know?"  
  
"You don't want to know," Lorne speedily assured him. "Hey, how's the little guy taking it all in? And how's the little lady taking in the little guy?"  
  
"They have names, Lorne. And they're getting along fine, if you must know."  
  
"I must, I must."  
  
"You're shouting again; who are you talking to?" Angel strained his ears, trying to be sure of the sounds this time. "And why do I hear...is that a champagne cork? And glasses; I'm sure I heard glasses clinking."  
  
"Would we have champers without you? Your glass is always so nice and rosy with that little O-pos chaser; it really adds a festive touch. No, no, that was...gunfire. And breaking windows. This is LA, after all."  
  
Angel sighed as he rubbed the tight line of clenched muscle forming between his brows; Lorne was a good and loyal friend, but there were times he could have given the Headless Horseman a migraine.  
  
"So you...and Gunn. are just sitting around the office watching porno films while someone is firing bullets through the glass in the lobby doors...have I got the situation right?"  
  
Lorne sniffed loudly, outraged dignity vibrating through his vocal cords right down into the phone lines. "I know you said no parties, but this is just family."  
  
It wasn't worth the bother; Angel decided to face the damage, and pay the bills for it, when he got back. Tonight he had other things on his mind.  
  
"You know...just forget I asked. Listen, I really called to talk with...well, with Cordelia. Is she there?"  
  
"Sure thing; who do you think made the popcorn for movie night?"  
  
"Popcorn and champagne; gee, I miss all the fun." The vampire's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Oh wait, that wasn't champagne, was it? It was popcorn and gunfire. My mistake."  
  
"Is it my fault you don't know how to party? We're just having a little fun; we're fine."  
  
Fine, they were fine; Angel clung to that fact even as he questioned Lorne's precise definition of the word. They were, and would, survive without him. It felt a little lonely, but also strangely liberating; there were others who needed him now.  
  
"Good; I'm glad to hear it," he said sincerely. "Now if you could just get Cordy..."  
  
"No sooner said, my friend."  
  
There was a brief moment of silence before Angel heard the voice of the person he'd really been trying to reach.  
  
"Angel? It's Cordelia."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy hovered indecisively between the open doorway to her bedroom and the top of the stairs. She could hear Angel talking, his voice occasionally rising in query, and then falling as the questions posed were obviously answered. She wanted to get close enough to hear; she wanted to know what he was saying to Cordelia, but he had made it pretty clear he wanted to do this alone. Which was good, she told herself; which made sense. Except it meant that Buffy had no idea what was going on.  
  
Just because Cordy didn't want him didn't mean she really wanted him back with Buffy; the Slayer didn't buy that much of a Chase-reformation. Even as Buffy waited for Angel to join her upstairs, Cordelia could be talking him into going back to LA immediately. Buffy couldn't let that happen; she just couldn't. There were limits to how many times a person could give up her dreams and not shatter, and Buffy had passed that point with Angel about two good-byes ago. She started for the staircase, intent on fighting for her man.  
  
And then she heard him say Cordelia's name...worse, Cordelia's nickname...and she realized she couldn't stop any of this. Events had spun out of her control long ago, and having said her piece to Angel, all she could do now was wait. And hope.  
  
And plan very painful tortures for anyone who tried to screw things up this time, herself included.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Cordy," he said softly. "Hi. It's, umm, well you know who it is, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah, which would probably be why I said 'Angel' instead of 'This is Cordelia Chase, actress extraordinaire. I'm ready for my close-up'. Have you been drinking or something?"  
  
He laughed self-consciously. Why was this so hard? This was Cordelia, his friend Cordelia; she would understand. Hell, she understood before he did.  
  
"No, I, uh, just...I guess I just drifted off for a second. I, umm, didn't hear what you said."  
  
Cordelia's theatrical sigh flowed effectively along the lengths of fiber optic cable. "Very flattering, Angel. I'm sure Buffy will really appreciate it when you try that line on her."  
  
"Umm, yeah, that's kind of why I'm calling," he said awkwardly. "About Buffy, I mean...and me."  
  
"As in, you're back together...like you were ever really apart...and you're not quite sure how to rescind that earlier offer of undying devotion you made to me."  
  
Ouch. There were times it hurt to have friends who knew how your mind, and guilt complexes, worked.  
  
"That, uh, that would be the problem, yes." He drummed his fingers on the desk, stalling for time while he looked deep within himself for the right words, or any words at all, to explain the situation. "Listen, I feel really badly about...earlier. About the things I said...and the things I couldn't say...and I just really don't want this to mess anything up."  
  
Angel gritted his teeth, waiting for the well-deserved recriminations that would follow.  
  
"The only thing it might have messed up was between you and Buffy, and it sounds like it didn't. So we're good."  
  
She wasn't mad, though he wasn't quite sure why not. After the way he'd embarrassed them both, he wouldn't have blamed Cordelia for calling in a priest to consecrate his showerhead; he almost expected it. Angel breathed a quick sigh of relief; it had all been so simple.  
  
His eyes narrowed; it had been a little too simple.  
  
"Cordelia," he said slowly, "why are you letting me off the hook so easily?"  
  
"Oh I'm prepared to be very forgiving," she answered sweetly, "in return for one thing."  
  
Now he was getting somewhere. His muscles began to relax even as his mind feverishly sorted through the myriad of possible bribes he would be required to cough up. Somehow he didn't think a new wardrobe would cover it this time, for all that Cordelia approved of his sense of style.  
  
"I'm not in charge of the raises anymore, but I'll see what I can do with Wes," he promised, opting for the most likely fine.  
  
"Okay, make that two things. No, what I actually meant was a certain little phrase that I'm not hearing...that I really think you owe me...that I promise only to hold over your head for the next thirty or forty...maybe fifty...years, which, you know, is just a drop in the bucket for you, so..."  
  
Of course, the stiffest fine of all. Not that he hadn't intended to say it anyway.  
  
"Cordelia," he interrupted her, "I was wrong."  
  
"And he gets it in one," she said happily. "Now do you mind if I put you on speaker phone so I can have witnesses? I'm also thinking of calling in a notary, if you can hang on the line for a few minutes..."  
  
"I was wrong and I'm sorry."  
  
"Ooo, two for the price of one; I like this game."  
  
"And thank you," he finished quietly.  
  
The teasing note abruptly vanished from her voice. "You're welcome. I'm just glad somebody's going to get a happy ending around here."  
  
Angel glanced up the staircase, picturing Buffy tucking Connor in; watching his little chest rise and fall as Angel had done every night since his birth. A happy ending. Yeah, he was already well on his way to one.  
  
"I am sorry about Groo," he said sincerely, "but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that if something is meant to be, it will be. I'm living proof."  
  
"Hah!"  
  
"Okay, so non-living but remarkably lifelike proof."  
  
"I suppose I can try to take that the way you meant it, instead of the kind of creepy way it sounded." She yawned loudly in his ear. "Listen, it's late, and you probably have...things...you want to do. I'm gonna go."  
  
Angel briefly considered explaining the reality of his immediate future with Buffy, but he quickly decided there were some things he would like to try to keep private this time, at least for a little while.  
  
"Good...oh, wait. Could you just answer me one question?"  
  
He could hear a deep sigh at the other end of the line.  
  
"Okay, I guess you deserve it."  
  
"Deserve..."  
  
"The answer is yes; if you had asked me a few weeks from now, when I really knew Groo wasn't coming back...maybe, just maybe, I would have answered differently. Are you happy now?"  
  
Angel could feel a momentary panic seize his gut; oh god, he'd come even closer to disaster than he'd thought. If he'd waited, as he wanted to, instead of following Lorne's advice...he shuddered at the thought.  
  
"That wasn't what I...I mean thanks, but I actually didn't need to know..."  
  
"Oh," she said flatly. "Well, if you weren't going to ask...then I never answered."  
  
"Umm, sure," he agreed uneasily. "Listen, I really just wanted to know what was going on there. I heard all these weird noises and Lorne...he wasn't making much sense."  
  
Or maybe he had been making a little too much. Bits and pieces of the past few days...even months...began to coalesce in Angel's mind, glued together by Cordelia's subsequent answer.  
  
"Well Fred's doing some sort of, umm, Pylean mating dance, I guess; she's hammering out the 'rumption' riff at any rate. And Gunn is playing keep- away with Lorne's champagne bottle. Wesley went home early."  
  
Angel couldn't help but smile as he pictured them creating complete chaos in what once would have been his orderly retreat from humanity. But to realize what lengths they must have gone to, just because he had been too afraid to risk his heart again...it was more than a little embarrassing.  
  
"Thanks, Cordy; that, uh, explains a lot. I'll see you in a few days, unless something big comes up; you know how to reach me if it does." He started to hang up, but paused to leave one final message. "Oh and Cor, could you thank Lorne for me? He'll...he'll know why."  
  
He gently put the receiver down into the cradle, and let his head fall onto his folded arms. From above him, he heard Buffy's quiet footsteps coming down the staircase.  
  
"I have never been so humiliated in my life," he groaned.  
  
Buffy hurried down the rest of the steps and slipped her arm around his shoulders. She rested her head next to his on the desk, trying to direct her voice under his folded arms.  
  
"Oh Angel, trust me; you're going to be humiliated a lot worse than this." She felt his arm stiffen beneath her hand and hastened to explain. "Don't forget, I've seen you with that little boy upstairs. I just know what kind of a dad you're going to be. The first tooth he loses...you'll cry. And the first fall from his bike? Definite emergency room trip."  
  
"You're not helping," he grumbled, still hiding his face.  
  
Buffy stood up and tugged at his arm, slowly dragging him off of the seat.  
  
"Come on," she coaxed. "We'll go upstairs, and you'll see Connor all tucked up in the little bed Dawn made for him in my Slayer trunk, and you'll forget all about the fifty shades of red you'd be turning if you could turn even one."  
  
* * * * *  
  
They crept into Buffy's bedroom, stepping over the myriad of weapons Dawn had scattered on the floor when she cleared out a sleeping space for Connor. To add to the challenge of the obstacle course, Dawn had turned out all the lights except for the little desk light; its faint glow barely illuminated the open trunk pulled over to the foot of the bed.  
  
"Doesn't he look adorable?" Buffy whispered as they knelt down next to the trunk and peered at the small figure sleeping peacefully on the pillow stuffed inside. "When I first saw him in there I was wishing we still had Dawn's old doll crib, or at least something a little nicer to put him in. But then I thought...this is the first time I've liked having this trunk here. It's the first time it's been used just for something...good."  
  
Angel reached out and gently touched his son's warm cheek; beside him Buffy stretched out her hand to twitch the blankets over a small exposed foot. It was such a small domestic moment, but it was everything Angel had dreamed of since he had learned he was going to be a father. The reality, however, was so much more than he had ever expected. To finally be in this moment in time almost frightened him.  
  
"Angel," Buffy said softly, turning her face towards him, "Stay with me tonight."  
  
He had spent so long running from this life because he believed it could never be; now that it was his for the taking he almost backed away out of sheer habit. But he didn't have to walk away anymore; this was his life, whether he deserved it or not.  
  
"Are you sure?" he asked gravely. "You know we can't let anything happen...not yet."  
  
She nodded. "I know. And I'm not saying I won't be tempted," she leaned over and brushed a kiss across his cheek, "but I don't think I could call it 'settling' if I get to fall asleep in your arms and wake up the same way. We've never done that before."  
  
They hadn't, not even on their lost day, and it was something Angel had always regretted. Something he thought he would be forced to regret until the end of time.  
  
Angel gave Connor's little face one last caress before he stood up. Buffy stood up with him, taking his hand firmly in hers and leading him over to the bed.  
  
They kicked off their shoes and then sat down side by side on the bed, hands still clasped. Angel watched Buffy's face carefully as he slid back on the bed, towards the other side. She smiled softly at him as she followed, and molded herself to the curve of his body with a contented sigh.  
  
Home at last.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Angel woke up slowly, reluctant to surrender the comfort of his favorite dream. He wash awash in the scent of those dearest to him; he could feel two pulses vibrating against his lonely skin; he could hear the gentle, relaxed breathing of two beloved souls in utter contentment. He never wanted to wake up.  
  
A sound dragged him from the dream; a tiny, breathy cry designed to ping the radar in any parent. His eyes opened wide, obedient if not eager, and thereupon presented him with a picture that outshone any dream.  
  
When he and Buffy had fallen asleep she was twined around his body, and he had never wished her to be anywhere else. Now she rested almost a foot away from him, but his arm still lay trapped under the warm curve of her neck, and between them lay Connor, swaddled in his traveling blanket. One of Buffy's arms rested gently across the baby's legs, the other curled beneath his tiny head, cradling him in the protective circle created by her body and Angel's.  
  
If Angel's heart could have resumed beating, it would have stopped at this sight. This was the moment he'd waited a dozen lifetimes for, the moment he'd been born for. This was bliss in its purest form.  
  
Pure bliss. True happiness. Even as he basked in the moment, another, far uglier thought roared from the back of his brain. This was peace, and joy and complete happiness; he had known the taste of them before, and each time his life had been ripped to shreds just hours afterwards. His life, and one much more precious to him than his own.  
  
Now two lives hung in the balance, not including his own unworthy one.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Connor's dark eyes blinked open, regarding his father with the same unwavering trust he had exhibited since the moment of his birth. It was a faith Angel had always found daunting, but now it was truly terrifying.  
  
Not now, the vampire whispered silently. Please not now, after how far we've come.  
  
Buffy began to stir, her slight body tightening and then relaxing in an enormous stretch as she slowly opened her eyes.  
  
"Mmm, I think I must be back in heaven," she murmured, sliding her fingers across Connor's legs to tug on the edge of Angel's shirt.  
  
For the first time since her return, there was no trace of regret in Buffy's memories of heaven. Whatever waited for her on the other side, it could hold no weight against the joy of waking up next to Angel. Add in one small child, who had inexplicably stolen her heart from the instant she first laid eyes on him, and she was somewhere far beyond her expectations, or remembrances, of heavenly reward.  
  
"Angel?" She smiled sleepily at him. "What's the deep thought for the day? You look like you're composing a lu-lu."  
  
Angel forced away his panic, shoving it to the back of his brain for later. He wasn't sure of the precise timing, but if something was going to happen...please make it 'if' and not 'when'...it wouldn't be for at least an hour, probably two. The last time he'd had a chance to savor his gift, time to believe it was his forever, and time to relax into sleep secure in that belief. He had to believe he would be granted at least that much time today; enough time to let Buffy enjoy this moment of awakening the way she deserved to enjoy it. Later...if anything did happen later...they would handle it.  
  
No, he would handle it, in the only way left to him.  
  
All he needed was a sharp stick and a moment alone. There was no other way, if simply waking up with the two people he loved tipped the balance. There were too many moments that waited for him like false bottoms in a magician's trunk; too many tedious, repetitive, beautiful everyday moments that could snap his fragile grasp on humanity before he could stop it.  
  
"I was wondering how can you look so beautiful when you just woke up," he murmured, reaching out to caress a stray lock of blonde hair that trailed across her cheek. If these were to be his last moments, he wanted to revel in them, and he wanted Buffy to know that he had.  
  
She brushed a hand self-consciously through her sleep-mussed hair. "Try how can you manage to say the right thing when you're no more awake than I am," she grumbled good-naturedly, pretending to nip at his fingers as they lingered on her cheek. "That's the real mystery."  
  
"You inspire me."  
  
Connor's small hand reached up to grab Angel's arm, effectively reminding them both of their audience. Buffy laughed and hugged the baby, rubbing her chin on the downy wisps of his dark hair as she smiled over his head at Connor's father.  
  
"Guess maybe it was a good idea to have him in the bed with us after all," she teased. "It's kind of hard to get carried away when you'd have to carry me over him."  
  
"How did he end up here anyway? Not that I'm complaining," he hastened to add, "but even as gifted as he is, he's not ready for walking just yet. Next week maybe."  
  
Buffy smiled at the note of pride in Angel's voice when he talked about his son. He might try to shrug it off, but she could see the near awe with which he beheld Connor.  
  
"I got up to check the shades around dawn. He wasn't fussing or anything, but he...he smiled at me." She shrugged as a slight blush stained her cheeks. "I thought finding him with us would be a nice surprise when you woke up."  
  
"It was," he quickly reassured her. "It was...the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Thank you."  
  
She felt a peculiar frisson of unease flicker down her spine at the intensity of his answer, but it was banished almost immediately when he returned the conversation to the more mundane.  
  
"There is, however," Angel sniffed the air and grinned, "the diaper issue. As in, he usually needs a new one first thing every morning."  
  
Buffy's arms automatically loosened around Connor's back as she gazed down at him in comic dismay.  
  
"Eww...now that's an alarm clock I could do without."  
  
Connor's toothless smile softened Buffy's squeamish heart, however, and she shifted her elbow to help her sit up with him still in her arms.  
  
"Okay, little man, what do you say Daddy changes your diaper while Aunt..." her voice trailed off as she glanced at Angel. "While I," she firmly continued a moment later, "go down to the kitchen and whip you up a nice fresh bottle of formula?"  
  
Alone. She wanted to leave him alone with Connor. Angel sat up abruptly, reaching out to stop her before he had even decided what to say.  
  
"Buffy, wait," he said urgently. "I can't...I can't let you do that." Calm; he had to remain calm. She needed to know, but not yet. Until the time was right, he had to play it cool.  
  
"Excuse me?" She raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"I, uh, can't possibly deprive you of the experience of changing a diaper on a wiggling baby when you're still half-asleep." His voice acquired a wheedling note. "Besides, if I go downstairs first I can make breakfast for all of us. I'm not a half-bad cook...especially when you consider I can't really even appreciate my own creations."  
  
He had an enticing hint of the 'bad boy' aura in his smile, strangely all the more alluring to her for its domestic source. Buffy pursed her lips, shifting her gaze from Angel to Connor, and then back to Angel. In the end, she was no match for the two sets of melting brown eyes that silently pleaded with her.  
  
"Okay," she sighed. "I guess I need to figure out this diaper stuff anyway...though if Dawn can do it using just what a bunch of monks planted in her head, I ought to be able to do it with one hand tied behind my back and a crossbow in the other." She tilted her head to the side. "Actually, that might be an interesting drill some time. And you can bet it's one the Watcher's Council never thought of."  
  
Angel slipped of the bed quickly, unobtrusively palming a stake as he put on his shoes. Dawn's careless emptying of Buffy's Slayer trunk the night before had at least one useful aspect: weapons were, sadly, all-too readily available.  
  
"Use two hands," he advised, sliding the stake up his sleeve before he headed for the door. "One of them needs to keep a diaper over him at all times. Otherwise, you're going to be taking one more shower than you planned on today."  
  
She tilted her head to the side and frowned, puzzling out his last comment as she listened to the echo of his footsteps on the stairs. It took Connor's cooing to draw her attention back to the task at hand.  
  
"Hmm, now what do you suppose he meant by that, little man?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Angel was strangely preoccupied when Buffy, Dawn and Connor joined him in the kitchen. He was obviously trying to stay with the conversation, but his responses were all a beat too late, his laughs a little too forced. Buffy could sense something was wrong the moment she walked into the room, but she couldn't subject Dawn to another scene, let alone poor Connor. So the Slayer bided her time, obediently consuming the abundant, and surprisingly tasty, breakfast Angel set before her, watching while he showed Dawn how to prepare Connor's bottle and feed the baby, and waiting for the right moment to pounce.  
  
The moment came when Dawn pushed back her chair and started to leave the kitchen, alone.  
  
"Dawn," Angel said anxiously, "where are you going? Don't you want to take Connor with you?"  
  
Dawn looked puzzled, almost as much as Buffy felt.  
  
"Well, I was going to take a shower," she said slowly, glancing at her sister with unspoken questions in her eyes. "I sort of figured he'd stay with you guys."  
  
"Actually I'd, umm, appreciate it if you bring him back to Buffy's room for a little nap." Angel stood up stiffly and began clearing the table, snatching at the dishes with little regard for the fragility.  
  
"But he just got up," Dawn protested.  
  
"He's still a little tired. Look, if it's that big of an imposition I can do it." Angel set the plates on the counter with unwitting force, causing one to crack with an audible snap. "I just thought since you seemed so eager to help last night that..."  
  
She held up her hands. "No, hey, I can help."  
  
Dawn leaned down to free Connor from the car seat where she'd set him down after burping him, but Angel beat her to it. Gently he lifted the baby up to his chest, breathing in the scent and warmth of his child for what might be the last time.  
  
"You be good," he whispered hoarsely in Connor's ear. "Remember that I love you."  
  
Dawn shared an uneasy look with Buffy as she reached over to take Connor from his father. "Okay, well, umm, if anybody needs us we'll just be...upstairs. Again."  
  
Buffy waited until she heard the bang of Dawn's bedroom door closing before she advanced on Angel.  
  
"So, you want to tell me what that was about?"  
  
He turned quickly, seeming both surprised and disconcerted to find her right by his side. His long, graceful fingers, normally so steady and sure, spasmed on the countertop and accidentally sent one of the glasses crashing into the sink.  
  
"What what was about?"  
  
Buffy jerked a thumb at the doorway to the hall. "That. The oh-so-subtle hand-off of your son; the same baby you could hardly bear to let Dawn touch twelve hours ago." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Not to mention, last night you were so up with people I thought we'd have to let you hand out flowers at the airport to work it off. Now we're back to Angel's House of Stylish Brood. What gives?"  
  
Angel gulped nervously and checked his watch.  
  
"And what's with the watch thing?" she asked, pointing at his upraised wrist. "You've been doing that since we came downstairs. Do you have a date or something?"  
  
Fifty-eight minutes. Fifty-eight too-short minutes since the first domino had toppled. It was time to tell her the truth, now that Dawn and Connor were safely out of the way.  
  
Now that only minutes remained in which to grieve.  
  
"Sit down," he said quietly, stepping back and waving his hand at the kitchen chairs.  
  
Buffy shook her head, arms still stubbornly crossed. "Talk first; then I'll decide if I can't stand up."  
  
Angel stared unseeingly over her shoulder at the closed Venetian blinds, his mind consumed with the vision that met him upon awaking. "I don't...I don't know how to say this."  
  
"Just say it," she said, her voice sharp from the tension building up inside of her. Hearing it, she winced and tried again; this time reaching out to lightly touch his sleeve. "Angel, whatever it is, we can handle it...if we handle it together."  
  
He looked down at her, the tears shining in his brown eyes scaring her even more than his voice had a moment earlier.  
  
"If what I think is going to happen...happens," he said slowly, "then we can't handle it together. I'll do my part...and you'll do yours."  
  
Buffy shouted down the fear roiling inside of her at his lost little-boy tone. He was scared...Angel was never scared...no, that didn't matter; he was scared and she would fix it. He needed her to fix it.  
  
He needed her.  
  
"What is going to happen? Tell me. Please."  
  
"I didn't tell you last night, but there was a reason why I wasn't afraid to get involved with Cordy."  
  
Cordy. Great, his crisis involved Cordelia. Buffy wasn't sure whether to be relieved or jealous.  
  
"I...care for her," he said, the words that would separate him from his beloved slowly being dragged from his soul. "She's my friend, and she's good to me, and even as much as I'm crazy in love with you," he smiled sadly at Buffy, "I'm not so dead that I can't see she's a hottie. But...I always knew my soul was safe with her. No matter what we did...no matter whether the Powers had truly erased the clause in my curse or not...I knew she could never make me perfectly happy."  
  
"And this is a bad thing because?"  
  
Angel looked away again, staring down at his hands now tightly clenched on the countertop. With visible effort he relaxed his fists, spreading the fingers flat out on the Formica. Against the expanse of gleaming white, his hands looked paler still, and strangely defenseless.  
  
"This morning I woke up first," he said, in a distant voice. "I looked over at you, and at Connor, and it was...all my dreams made flesh. The three of us together...sharing a life." Angel shook his head and blinked back his tears; time was running out and he had to get through this before anything happened. "It was...perfect."  
  
"And we're still on the 'huh?' portion of the big bad story arc."  
  
"Buffy, there haven't been that many times when I've felt that way...not enough for me to mistake it for anything else."  
  
Buffy's hand reflexively gripped his sleeve, her Slayer strength leaving marks on the arm beneath that would be sure to bruise...if he was around long enough for them to form.  
  
He'd never wished for injuries so hard in his two-and-a-half centuries of existence.  
  
"Perfect," she breathed, comprehension flooding her shattered gaze. "As in...perfect happiness?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
Buffy closed her eyes and leaned forward to rest her head against his shoulder. Angel's arms came up automatically to pull her close, though he kept his clasp on her unusually loose.  
  
The better to release her, she realized, almost gagging at the thought.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me right away?" she whispered, turning her face into his chest as her arms slipped around his waist. He might be holding her loosely, but she intended to hang on with all her might.  
  
The shoulder under her cheek moved in a helpless shrug. "I'm not sure if it will...if I will change, and I wanted you to enjoy the morning. After all you've been through...and all that you'll have to go through if...if it does...I wanted you to have a little time free of it before we had to face reality."  
  
"But Dawn's spell..."  
  
"Was a protection spell," he finished for her. "You know they usually don't last beyond the specific conditions for which they were cast. In our case, it was that one night."  
  
She lifted her face from his chest, eyes blazing with determination. "We'll call Willow at the dorms," she said. "Dawn said she decided to stay on campus last night studying for mid-terms, but I know where she would have crashed. We'll call her right now and she can stop at the Magic Box for an Orb of Thesala on the way home and..."  
  
"You said she gave up magick."  
  
Buffy made an impatient sound in the back of her throat. "That doesn't matter now. And if it does, we can..." she threw up her hands, "We can ask Tara to do it. I don't care who does it as long as you're safe."  
  
Angel shook his head, his lips twisting in a ghastly parody of a smile. "Sorry, no sale," he said hoarsely. "I've had my soul restored twice already; if it doesn't stick this time I'm not going to try another patch job."  
  
She pushed off of his chest, forcing him a few steps backwards. "What did you say?" she asked, not believing her ears. "What happened to Mr. I- Wasn't-Trying-To-Lose-My-Soul?"  
  
"I wasn't. I wouldn't. But if..." he shook his head, "if I lost it because of something as simple as waking up with you and Connor beside me...I can't be trusted with it."  
  
She searched her mind for arguments, giving voice to one that broke her heart. But if that was what it took, she would do it and gladly.  
  
"It's me," she said quickly. "You were fine with Connor before you came here...and we both know I'm the only one who's ever made that soul of yours run for cover...so it's me. I just have to stay away from you. Forever this time."  
  
With that in mind she began to slide away from him, the kitchen counter digging into the small of her back in a feeble approximation of the pain tearing at her soul. Angel caught her arm before she got very far, but not even his gentle touch could soothe her when she saw what he pulled out of the kitchen drawer with his other hand.  
  
A stake.  
  
She shook her head frantically, closing her eyes to the deadly piece of wood clutched between his long fingers.  
  
"No, I won't," she whispered. "You can't make me. I won't...I can't...do it."  
  
"No, you won't," he agreed. "I will."  
  
Her eyes flew open, meeting his in complete shock. "You can't!"  
  
"I don't have a choice this time."  
  
"Yes you do," she insisted. "I told what the solution was; now you just have to make your mind up to do it." She aimed her last desperate blow. "Or are you too much of a coward?"  
  
"Nice try." He smiled gently, shaking his head in unwilling refute. "I can't risk it, Buffy, for your sake and for Connor's. You're right; you are my definition of perfect happiness. But someday I may not be so selfish...someday it may be enough to know that Connor has a future with the woman he loves. It might even be enough to know that you have a future with someone you..." he paused, and then let out a quick gasping chuckle.  
  
"No, actually I don't think I'll ever be that unselfish," he admitted, the pain in his dark eyes robbing his comment of any of the resignation he was trying so hard to project.  
  
"You can't just give up; it's not right. It's..." Buffy fumbled for the right word, "it's despair; that's what it is," she finished triumphantly. "You said that was wrong, and I was wrong to give into it."  
  
"I never said that," he protested.  
  
"Now it's your turn to fight it," she continued, as though he had never spoken. "And you even have me to help you. I have chains to keep you safe until help arrives, and then...if we need to...we'll find a way to crazy glue that curse in place if it takes every spell and potion in the Magic Box."  
  
"Buffy..."  
  
She yanked her arm out of his grasp and glared at him. "It's decided. If I have to beat the stuffing out of you to keep you from killing yourself, I will. Connor needs you and so do I, dammit." Her hand curled into a fist, pounding on his unyielding chest in protest. "I deserve at least one thing in my life working out the way I planned, and you are so not going to mess it up for me, mister."  
  
She was wrong and he knew it. But Angel also knew there would be no reasoning with her now. Buffy had forgotten the horrors Angelus could wreak on the innocent, and no words he could use would convince her that they couldn't risk a return of his alter ego. After a long, hard look into her hazel eyes, he gave a sharp nod of assent.  
  
"Okay, we'll wait."  
  
"Knew you'd see it my way," she answered, carefully pretending not to notice he had given no promises of what he would do when the waiting was done.  
  
* * * * *  
  
To Be Continued 


	5. Chapter 5

Heal Me  
  
Part 5  
  
By Gem  
  
  
  
They slipped upstairs quietly, careful not to arouse Dawn's attention or suspicions. Angel asked Buffy to take Connor somewhere out of his sight, but she refused point blank. She left the baby in her Slayer trunk, angling it so that Angel could see Connor from where he was chained to the bed, and she curled up on the floor beside the trunk.  
  
"Buffy, I really think..."  
  
She shook her head firmly. "No think; talk. Tell me...tell me about Connor."  
  
Buffy wanted to crawl up beside her lover, shielding him with both arms and heart, but she accepted that there were some risks he was not willing to take. She bowed to his overpowering need to protect those he loved; how could she do otherwise, when the same need led her to fasten those chains in the first place? But she knew he needed to see what he was fighting for; he had to remember what was at stake for them as well as for himself.  
  
"What do you want to know?" he asked softly. "I think we hit the high points."  
  
She reached into the trunk and ran her finger down the back of one tiny hand. "I don't mean the mystical prophecy stuff; I want to know the 'boring-old-ladies-at-the-airport-with-your-six-pounds-of-photographs' kind of things."  
  
So he told her. He told her about Connor's favorite lullaby, and the toys that were already loved beyond repair, and the way he always woke up with a smile on his face. Angel wasn't sure if he was telling Buffy to share this part of his life with her, or if he was preparing her for what lay ahead in her own life. He had a question in the back of his mind, but he couldn't pose it...not yet. She was still trying to hang on to the hope that he could somehow be saved, and even though they both knew his mind was unchanged, together they maintained the façade that all would still be well.  
  
Buffy kept her eyes firmly fixed on Angel's face as he talked, though her hand periodically slipped into the trunk to reassure herself of the child's continued well-being, and of her only physical connection to his father. Finally it became too much to look upon her beloved without being able to touch him; she knew these were stolen moments at best, and each one spent apart was another minute added to the pile of wasted opportunities.  
  
She stood up slowly, Angel watching her every move, and very gingerly she took a seat on the foot of the bed.  
  
"Buffy, get back," Angel said quickly. He tried to sit up as the alarm bells went off in his mind, but the chains held him fast.  
  
Buffy smiled a little at his struggle.  
  
"See," she said breathlessly. "Snug as a bug in a tempered steel rug." She slid a little further towards Angel, casting a quick eye over her shoulder first to check on the sleeping baby. "Don't worry," she continued, as much to Connor as to Angel, "I'm gonna stay right here between you two until we know it's okay for the chains to come off. I won't let anything happen to either one of you."  
  
"Promise me you'll keep him safe; that's enough."  
  
"Well it's not enough for me. Or for him." She gave up her cautious approach and abruptly slid up to the head of the bed, stretching out beside her bound lover. One way or another she was going to get through to him how very much he mattered in her world. How could he leave when he understood that?  
  
"Angel, did I ever tell you about Billy? The little boy with the nightmares?"  
  
He was confused by the shift in topic but he tried to remember, sensing this was important to her. "I don't...I don't think so."  
  
"It was a long time ago. He was in a coma...his Kiddy League coach beat him up for losing a game...and Billy's fear of the coach kind of spilled out into the rest of Sunnydale. We all started living our worst nightmares. Xander went to class in his underwear; Giles couldn't read; Willow had to sing in public...it was pretty bad." She frowned as a question occurred to her. "Actually...didn't you get hit too? It happened the first year I was in Sunnydale."  
  
"If it happened during the day I probably slept through it." Angel tried to shrug beneath the chains. "When you've got the kind of memories I have, it's a little hard to tell the difference between supernatural mind games and plain auld lang syne."  
  
"Oh. I guess I can relate...sort of." It's not as though she'd had many peaceful dreams since her return from the dead, especially the second time.  
  
"It's not important now. So what was your nightmare?" Angel asked. He imagined a day filled with endless trigonometry tests, or perhaps time served with Cordelia's clique.  
  
"My dad told me I was the one who broke up my parents' marriage, and I became a vampire."  
  
"I'm sorry," he swiftly apologized, struggling yet again against the bonds that rendered him harmless and kept her safe. "To be like me...like this...it's got to be your worst nightmare."  
  
"Yup. Number one on the fright parade." She could tell by the quick flash of hurt that darted across his eyes that he didn't understand. "I didn't mean that the way it came out...that's not what I was trying to say." Buffy shook her head impatiently, and reached out to gently stroke his upturned cheek with one soft finger. "I loved you then, Angel. Not as much as I do now, but I did love you. But even in my worst nightmare I couldn't imagine a world without you in it any more."  
  
He smiled sadly, turning his head to press a fleeting kiss on her hand as it slipped down his cheek once more.  
  
"I felt the same way about you. Then you died and I...learned to imagine."  
  
"But I came back," she insisted. "And after all the times we've lost each other, I still can't imagine my life without you. That has to count for something."  
  
"It does; you know it does. But I can't let myself be evil again, Buffy. Maybe it won't happen; maybe I'll be safe. But if I'm not, then no one else is either, especially Connor." He steeled himself to ask the question that had been haunting him since he became aware of the danger to his soul. "You have to protect him, for me and from me if necessary. I'm trusting the two people I love most to each other...will you please take care of him?"  
  
"I'm not listening to this." She shook her head fiercely. "You are not bailing on me and sticking me with mommy duty; we are in this together."  
  
In her rush to deny the need for the promises he asked of her, Buffy didn't realize the promises for the future she was making. Angel did, though, and a part of him rejoiced, hearing everything he had ever dreamed of being offered to him. Yet another part of him dreaded her words, waiting for their future to turn to dust yet again.  
  
"I'm not trying to bail," he answered softly, "I'm being realistic. An adult. A parent." He spoke slowly and carefully, saying it as much for himself as for her. They both needed to hear this. "I'm sorry if this is bringing up memories of your mom, but I need to know that Connor will be taken care of."  
  
"This has nothing to do with Mom," she flared.  
  
"I think it does, at least a little. You're still angry that she left you. And that I left you. And Giles. And your dad."  
  
"Some of you had choices." She glared at him. "Some of you still do."  
  
"And I will make what I believe is the best one for Connor, and for you," he answered steadily.  
  
"Don't try and weasel out on me with the nobility junk again," she countered. "You owe me, buddy. You owe me at least one future after all you've put me through the past hour." She abruptly stopped talking and turned to stare at him in open-mouthed wonder. "The past hour," she repeated breathlessly, waving her watch under his nose. "Angel, it's been an hour since we started arguing about this in the kitchen. Over an hour, really."  
  
Angel struggled to roll on his side to catch a good look at Buffy's wristwatch. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Look." She swung her wrist back and forth in front of his face. "Look," she repeated impatiently.  
  
"Stop moving your wrist so I can," he said sharply.  
  
Buffy immediately held her arm still in front of Angel's face, his dark eyes gazing intently at the small round disk that spelled out his fate.  
  
"You said two hours, tops," she reminded him unnecessarily. "More than two hours would have been after dawn. It was a sunny day; I remember. You never would have made it away safely."  
  
Angel's mind traveled back to that long ago night, trying to reconstruct a timetable. He remembered Buffy's short-lived party, and their good-bye at the docks. Then there was the trip back to the apartment for a change of clothes, and the hours of research in the school library. The trip to the warehouse, and fleeing from it after they escaped the Judge. Making love, slowly and sweetly, and then falling asleep in each other's arms.  
  
Waking up as his soul was being torn from his body.  
  
He gritted his teeth, forcing the pain of the last memory from his mind. The time; he had to focus on the time. It had been after dawn when he got to the warehouse that morning, but he'd spent hours wandering around the sewers, scoping out the terrain through new eyes before he'd made his grand entrance; he remembered it well. He remembered everything about those days, in excruciating detail. She was right; he was right. Two hours, no more.  
  
He was safe.  
  
"This...this is incredible. It really worked." Angel's gaze shifted upwards to capture Buffy's damp hazel eyes with his own. "She really did it."  
  
"She sure did," Buffy choked out before she lay down next to Angel and wrapped her arms around him.  
  
Angel returned her kiss with enthusiasm, but he was somewhat hampered in any further efforts to demonstrate his devotion by the chains that still bound him. After a few sweet moments losing himself in his beloved's soft lips, he managed to tear himself away long enough to mention his problem.  
  
"Buffy," he whispered as he nuzzled behind her ear, "this would be a lot more fun if my arms were free."  
  
"What?" She pulled back and stared at him in confusion for a moment before his predicament really clicked in. "Oh god, Angel; I'm so sorry." She was silent before a moment before she softly repeated, "I'm so sorry."  
  
Angel heard an odd note of desperation in her voice. He twisted his head with difficulty, trying to look into her eyes as she pressed her cheek against his chest. "Sorry about what?"  
  
She burrowed her head into his shoulder without answering.  
  
"Buffy," he prompted, "what are we talking about?"  
  
"This," she whispered. "This was the way it should have been the last time."  
  
He knew what she meant, but he wanted to make her smile so he teased, "You mean the chains?"  
  
She refused to be placated. "I should've been happy for you. I just got so tied up in myself when I first came back...it never even occurred to me that the not changing was about you and not about me."  
  
"Buffy, I was hurt that you didn't trust me, but I do understand. We make love once and I'm so happy I lose my soul, and then the second time," he closed his mind to the memories of the lost day, "the second time nothing literally earth-shattering happens." Angel touched his forehead to Buffy's, looking steadily into her eyes. "It's got to send mixed messages."  
  
"Well, you are the king of mixed messages," she admitted, feeling the burden of guilt begin to lighten.  
  
He raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. "I learned from the queen."  
  
"I never," she retorted indignantly, raising herself on one elbow to scowl down at him.  
  
"So I'm still hanging out in these chains for aesthetic reasons?"  
  
She couldn't help her giggle as she reached over him to begin unfastening the locks that held the chains fast, any more than he could help the reaction of his body to having her stretched across him.  
  
Wriggling.  
  
"Hey," she purred, "is that cell phone still in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"  
  
"Not funny," he grumbled. "I'm trying to behave myself...I mean I want to behave myself. For now...not, you know, forever."  
  
"Glad to hear it." She stopped her efforts to unwind the chains long enough to press a warm kiss on his lips. For all his protests about trying to behave, he responded eagerly to her overtures. "Mmm," she mumbled against his mouth, "sweetie, I'm never going to get this off if you don't stop..."  
  
"Oh, wow, I'm sorry," Dawn said breathlessly from the doorway.  
  
Buffy tried to turn around to face the now open door, even as Angel fought to raise his body off of the bed to look for himself. The result was Buffy tumbling to the floor, while Angel watched helplessly from above.  
  
"Dawn, we didn't, umm...we didn't think you were...umm, we didn't mean to..." Buffy struggled to find a suitable explanation while her sister's expression wavered between delight and abject embarrassment.  
  
"I didn't know you guys were...last night I thought you told me you were going to go slow...or at least that was the impression I...umm, sorry." Dawn shrugged, turning up her palms to empty them, and her, of responsibility.  
  
Buffy finally got to her feet. "We weren't," she said firmly. "I was trying to get these chains off of Angel and...and you probably want to know why they were on in the first place." Her voice trailed off as she considered the virtues of complete disclosure versus the blow to Dawn's pride when her big sister admitted neither she nor Angel had fully trusted her spell. "It wasn't what it looked like, really. I mean, we were kissing...and there were chains...and handcuffs...and chains...but it really wasn't..."  
  
Dawn pressed one arm dramatically over her eyes. "There's such a thing as too much information." She peeked over her arm, smiling mischievously. "Unless you feel really strongly that I should know."  
  
"Can we save the explanations for a time when I can add hand gestures?" Angel asked plaintively, wriggling on the bed the best he could given his restraints.  
  
"Hey, watch the talk in front of the kid...s," Buffy scolded, her index finger waving at him in mock warning. Suddenly she grimaced. "Yikes. Channeling the Mom vibe for a second there."  
  
"I think it's kind of nice," Dawn said soothingly. "As long as you don't start with the 'not on a school night you're not' thing."  
  
Buffy grinned. "Or how about 'I don't care if you're not sleepy; just go to sleep."  
  
"Oh yeah, or..."  
  
"Ladies," Angel growled, "Really sorry to interrupt your bonding, but can we discuss my bondage?" He shifted uncomfortably, his movements still tightly constrained by the chains. "I hate to ruin another vampire stereotype, but personally I've always seen it more as a business tool than a social activity. Get these things off of me. Please."  
  
Buffy looked at him oddly, a troubling memory surfacing at his words. There were so many things they hadn't talked about yet, and a lot of them she really wasn't looking forward to sharing.  
  
"Angel, we need to...we need to get those things off of you," she finished hurriedly. Now, with Dawn there, was so not the time. Later, she promised herself; there was always later.  
  
Angel hadn't missed the fleeting expression of pain in his beloved's eyes, but Dawn's presence inhibited him as well. The slam of the door downstairs, and the footsteps resounding on the staircase didn't help the situation either. He resolved to ask her later what was troubling her, and maybe then share a few of his own burdensome memories.  
  
"Hey, whose car is in the driveway?" Willow called down the hall. Her voice got louder as she neared Buffy's bedroom, but it couldn't contend with Xander's.  
  
"Yeah, it's pretty cool, except for the basic black thing. Almost makes me think of..." Xander stopped talking as they came in the room and spotted Angel still chained to the bed while Buffy was working with the locks. "Angel. You know I almost could have called it." He took another long look at his old rival. "Except for the chains. That's a new twist."  
  
"And what exactly is with the, umm, chains?" Willow asked hesitantly. Her eyes were caught with another image before she received an answer however, and all thoughts of chains flew from her head. "Where did Dawn get a baby? I was only gone overnight."  
  
Dawn casually shifted Connor to her hip, as though she had done it every day of her life. "This is Connor. He's Angel's."  
  
"Gulp." Willow looked anxiously from the baby to Angel, to Buffy. "Did you say 'Angel's'? As in...Angel's?"  
  
Buffy nodded absently, her attention largely consumed by her all-too professional expertise with binding her lover. He'd have already been free if she wasn't so darned good at her job.  
  
"Excuse me?" Xander held his hand up the air. "Am I the only one confused by the sudden rewriting of the basic rules of biology?"  
  
The Slayer cast him a sour glance as she began to unwind the chains from Angel's chest. "What would you remember about biology? You slept through more of it than I did."  
  
"Not when Miss French was teaching." Willow grinned at her old friend, reveling in the red glow now suffusing his face.  
  
"Can we leave my hormones out of this? This is about Angel's weird science, not mine."  
  
"Hey!" Buffy snapped.  
  
"Lay off, Xander," Angel said sharply. His hands free at last, he began helping Buffy to untangle the chains around his legs. "You can say what you want about me," he continued, "but not one word about my kid."  
  
"Sorry. I just meant...this is weird. You gotta admit that much."  
  
"Even for you two," Willow added.  
  
"Speaking of two's," Xander continued, "why is there? Two of you, I mean. Complete with kinky accessories." He perched on the edge of the bed. "Tell us a story, Daddy."  
  
Angel glanced apologetically at Dawn before he answered. "I thought my soul was in danger. Dawn cast a protection spell, but it was a long time ago. I didn't know if it was still holding, and then when I woke up this morning I..."  
  
"Woke up?" Xander asked, looking suspiciously at Buffy. "You couldn't have gotten here from LA in the daylight."  
  
"No, he slept here. With me." Buffy sat down next to Angel, taking his hand in hers as she glared defiantly at Xander. "Not that it's any of your business, but we didn't do anything...soul-stirring."  
  
"Except for waking up and seeing Buffy and Connor in the bed with me." Angel smiled at her and squeezed her hand. "That was enough to make me perfectly happy."  
  
"That is so sweet," Dawn and Willow chimed in unison.  
  
"Adorable," Xander added wryly. "Have to hand it to you, man; you still know how to make the ladies swoon. I'd find it impressive if it wasn't so annoying."  
  
"The point is that he didn't lose his soul, because Dawn's spell is still holding. But until we knew for sure, we didn't want to take any chances."  
  
Xander bobbed his head at Buffy in acknowledgment. "And those of us who would have died a horrible death if his soul did split two for one thank you."  
  
"You're welcome," she said dryly.  
  
"Of course that still doesn't explain where the baby came from," Xander pointed out.  
  
Angel glanced at Buffy, raising an eyebrow in wry amusement. "You're right; biology is not his strong suit."  
  
"Maybe if you just gave us a hint," Willow suggested hesitantly. "A first initial or something."  
  
"Or maybe we'll just talk about it later." Buffy gave her friends a quelling glance. "It's a long story I really don't want to rehash right now." She leaned back against Angel's shoulder, relishing the feel of his arm automatically coming up to encircle her. "I want to enjoy the now for a few minutes before we go back down that road again."  
  
Xander cleared his throat, strangely unwilling to inject cold reality into the situation. "And, uh, what about the 'then' after the 'now'?"  
  
Buffy shared a questioning glance with Angel, each one trying to measure the other's willingness to let her friends into their love life again. Angel gave a tiny nod at last, signaling his agreement to the silent question in Buffy's eyes.  
  
"Now," she said slowly, "and after the now, we start over. Hopefully with your support, but it's not a deal-breaker."  
  
Xander's forehead automatically drew down into a frown. "Hey, easy Buff. I know I used to be a little...cautious..."  
  
"Protective," Dawn said stoutly.  
  
"Hostile," Buffy corrected, her voice still wary from bitter past experience.  
  
"Jealous," Willow finished with a grin. "It's okay, Xander; we understand. You're a guy. Angel was on your turf."  
  
"I am not turf," the Slayer protested. "Stop making it sound liked they took turns peeing on me."  
  
Xander threw his hands up in the air, casting an imploring glance at Angel as the only other man in the room. "Boy, you make a few 'I'd like to dust that creep' comments and suddenly you're the bad guy." He looked over at Buffy, all traces of levity vanished from both face and voice. "What I was trying to say was that I used to be...whatever...about Angel, but I've grown up a lot since then. I don't know if this is what's best for you, Buffy...and I'm having issues with the whole Mother Buffy image..."  
  
"She's not becoming a nun, Xander," Willow protested.  
  
"Not if I can help it," Buffy murmured under her breath. From the grin on Angel's face, she knew he, at least, had heard her.  
  
"But if it's what you want," Xander continued over their protests, "it's your life. As long as the curse is happy-proofed, I'm cool."  
  
"And as long as you're happy," Willow chimed in. "Which any idiot can see you are." She nudged Xander with the toe of her shoe. "Even this one."  
  
"I always liked Angel," Dawn said, tossing her hair over her shoulder both for emphasis and to protect it from Connor's little fingers.  
  
Buffy smiled in relief. She wasn't going to lose Angel again for anyone, but it certainly made for quieter evenings if her friends were behind them.  
  
"Okay, so we've got half the votes in and they're a semi-solid 'yay.' How about your crew?"  
  
Angel couldn't hold back a small chuckle at her question, and his laughter only grew when he saw the patent surprise on Xander and Willow's faces at the sound.  
  
"I wouldn't worry about them, Buffy," he finally managed to say. "I think they were almost as anxious to get the old me back as I was."  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was a magical week, and not in the sense that Buffy had come to associate with the word. There were no spells, no curses, no mystical powders or potions; not a single one. Of course, with a baby sharing their room, and a teenager in the next room, there was also nothing happening that once might have called for spells or potions, but somehow she didn't mind. Much. There would be time enough for that later; finally, there would be time.  
  
Overall, Angel fit strangely well into the domestic life of Revello Drive. Buffy had the uneasy feeling that his life in LA was equally familial, but she tried not to let it bother her. He was happy, she was happy, Dawn and Connor were happy; why worry about the life that existed beyond the four walls of their sanctuary?  
  
Buffy wanted to spend every available moment with Angel and Connor, but he insisted that she shouldn't rearrange her life for them. So she looked for a new job, and did the usual shopping and took the car to get an oil change. But every day ended with Angel, and Connor, and Dawn, by her side, and they made all the difference.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Hi honey, I'm home," she caroled, slipping in the door late one sunny afternoon. "I've got good news too." She glanced into the curtained living room, but there was no sign of Angel. Further peeks into the kitchen and dining room also yielded no fruit; he was obviously upstairs. She ran quickly up the steps, eager to be reunited with the men in her life.  
  
"Angel," she called as she walked into her bedroom, "didn't you hear...what are you doing?"  
  
It was a stupid question; she could see perfectly well that he was packing Connor's things. Packing, as in preparing to leave.  
  
"Cordelia had a vision," he said, tossing the baby powder into the bag. "A Fantori demon, Wesley thinks. They're strong and they fight dirty." He looked her in the eyes for the first time as he added, "They need me in LA."  
  
"And we don't?" she snapped. A second later she sighed and ran her hand through her hair as she tried to collect herself. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I promised myself I wouldn't do that. I know you have to go back; it's just...it's so soon."  
  
He abruptly abandoned his packing and sat down on the edge of the bed, patting the spot beside him.  
  
"I know," he agreed, heaving a sigh. "It feels like everything was finally settling down and now this. I wish I could stay, but I feel like there's still things I need to do there." He shook his head resolutely; there was no point in wishing for things to be different when they were already so much better than he deserved. "If nothing else, I still have a few old enemies to take care of for Connor's sake. That demon hunter, Holtz...the one I told you about...I need to settle things with him once and for all so we don't have to be watching out for him all of the time."  
  
She sat down beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder as she twined her fingers with his.  
  
"You know, speaking of settling things, we never did settle the whole settling down thing," she reminded him. "We've been tiptoeing around the subject all week so that we don't spoil anything. But if you have to go, we need to talk about it."  
  
"Yeah, we do." He paused for a moment, watching Connor stretched out in Buffy's trunk sucking on Mr. Gordo's ear. "I know you're tied to the hellmouth, even though it's supposed to be closed."  
  
"It's not the hellmouth I'm tied to; it's Dawn," she said unhappily. "I can't make her move, not now. Maybe when she's in college...but that's two years away."  
  
A trace of mischief sparkled in his dark eyes. "Buffy, I'm going to live forever, you're barely 21 and Connor can't even sit up yet. Two years is not that long."  
  
She pursed her lips as she lightly punched his arm. "It seems like forever to me. I want to be with you...both of you. But right now..."  
  
"Right now is not the time," he finished for her. "I know. I have things I have to do too." The smile left his eyes as he said, "Haven't quite caught the tail of that redemption balloon yet."  
  
"Hey, no talk like that," she scolded. "You are the most redeemed person I know. But you have responsibilities, and while I don't like the idea that they'll take you away from me, I do understand. Sort of."  
  
He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "My responsibilities aren't forever, though. I mean Connor is, but we don't have to stay in LA. Wes runs the business now; there's no reason he can't take over completely. Maybe I can open up a new office in Sunnydale eventually."  
  
Her eye brightened at the thought of Angel back in Sunnydale permanently. "Hey, since I have this whole, you know, sacred anti-forces of evil duty anyway, maybe I can do it working for you," she suggested quickly. "With you," she corrected herself a minute later.  
  
"With me," he agreed, grinning at the image as well as the amended expression of it. "For now I guess we'll have to do the weekend route. Actually I will, because it's probably easier for me to get away than you."  
  
She grinned up at him. "Still think I'm going to take a whack at Cordy, don't you?"  
  
"Let's just I'd prefer to try an ounce of prevention than have you pound out a cure."  
  
"Spoilsport." Her smile dissolved an instant later, the frown that replaced it drawing creases across her smooth brow. "Speaking of pounding...Angel, you said you wanted to 'settle' things with Holtz. All that you've said about him makes me really nervous to have you do that alone. You can't leave until sunset anyway; maybe I could..."  
  
The quick, decisive shake of his head put an end to her idea before she finished giving it air.  
  
"Buffy, no. I need to do this alone."  
  
"We're a team now; we're supposed to fight the bad guys together," she argued. "Except for, you know, when we aren't actually in the same town. But I can be in the same town." She could tell she wasn't convincing him but she couldn't stop trying. "I just need to ask Willow to keep an eye on Dawn. And, well, there's this job that..."  
  
"Job? You found something?"  
  
"Maybe. Probably. But that doesn't matter now. You do."  
  
"I love you when you're overprotective." He smiled gently to remove any sting from his words. "But I need to do this alone. Holtz is part of my past, my old sins. I need to deal with him on my own, for my sake as well as yours."  
  
Buffy drew a deep breath; it's not like she'd expected him to say yes. She wanted him to, she wished he had, but she hadn't really expected it."  
  
"Okay, if you won't let me come with you, then leave Connor here." She saw the look of surprise on his face and hurried to explain. "I know it sounds crazy, and I know you probably don't want to leave him with someone who, until about a week ago, thought formula was something you blanked out on in a math test. I just have this weird feeling that he'd be safer here."  
  
The surprise in his eyes turned sharply to something darker. "Did you have a dream?"  
  
She frightened him; damn, that wasn't what she'd intended. "Angel, no; it's nothing like that. It's just...a feeling. Maybe because you're going up against a guy who let himself be quick frozen for two hundred plus years just so he could have one more shot at kicking your ass." She traced the line of his jaw with a gentle fingertip. "I don't think he likes you."  
  
Buffy could see the tension ease infinitesimally, though she wasn't sure if it was because of her explanation or simply her touch.  
  
"No, I don't suppose he does. And maybe Connor would be safer out of the range of fire, but...are you sure?" Angel raised one skeptical eyebrow as he added, "He's an awful lot of work, especially if you're starting a new job. Which, by the way, you still haven't told me anything about."  
  
"I'll tell you more about it if...when...there's anything to tell about it. As for the lots of work part," she shrugged and turned her palms upwards, trying to look casual as she placed her faith in luck, "if we're going to make us work, I'm going to need to try out my balancing act on the high wire eventually."  
  
"That's true," he conceded. He frowned, thinking the idea through carefully. "He should be safe here with you; Wolfram and Hart have no control here, and any normal demon who comes into town knows better than to mess with you by now." He couldn't help the pleasure sweeping over him, even as he quailed at the thought of leaving his son behind. "It shouldn't take me too long to take care of Cordy's vision and see to Holtz and then I can come back for a few days again."  
  
She knew she should be happy, and she was...in a way. She was glad Connor would be staying, and that Angel trusted him with her, and that Angel would have to come back for him and then he could stay for another few days. But even so...  
  
"You'll be careful, right?"  
  
He didn't answer her with words, but he left her with no doubt that he had too much to survive for now to take any unnecessary chances.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Angel kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road before him, but beyond his position between the lane markers, he had no idea where he was. The mile markers flashed past, caught in the glow of his headlights, but they did not register. His mind was filled with images of Connor, and Buffy, as he had last seen them. They were together, and Buffy would keep his son safe; he knew this as well as he knew the sun would rise in the morning. But he would not see them at that sunrise, or for several to come. He would be in Los Angeles and they would be in Sunnydale and as much as he hated the idea he would have to live with it.  
  
He should be grateful that Buffy felt such an instant connection with Connor...he was grateful...but he missed them. He missed them with every fiber of his being, and for the first time in a very long time he doubted the value of a mission that would take him away from the two people he was sure he was meant to spend his days with. Yes, he needed to make amends for the evil he had done, but how could neglecting those he loved make amends for anything?  
  
It was with mingled gratitude and regret that he greeted the sign for his exit. The sooner he was back at the Hyperion, the sooner he could deal with the demon and leave...but oh, how he wished he was already headed the other way on that highway.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The office was in its usual state of chaos when he wandered in that evening. Fred and Gunn were playfully fighting over a book while Wesley recited the book's pedigree in an attempt to make them be careful with it. Cordelia casually flipped through a fashion magazine as Lorne watched, the two of them trading acerbic comments on the fashion violations contained within its glossy pages.  
  
Business as usual at Angel Investigations.  
  
"Excuse me," Angel said from the doorway. "I thought we had a demon to catch, but maybe I misunderstood."  
  
"Angel," Wesley said, a faint smile fighting with the dull red glow suffusing his thin face. "You're back."  
  
Cordelia glanced sharply at him. "And back without an escort. Where's Connor?"  
  
Angel perched on the arm of the chair next to the door. Despite their talk he still felt a little awkward around Cordelia; he had a feeling he would for some time to come. For the moment he tried to address his comments to the groups as a whole, avoiding direct contact with her sharp brown eyes.  
  
"I'm back because you said there was a Fantori demon running around town." He glanced around the room. "I guess I'm the only one who's worried about it, though."  
  
Wesley's face turned still redder. "Yes, well, it appears we were mistaken. It, uh, wasn't exactly a Fantori."  
  
"Angel," Fred said hesitantly, "you didn't answer Cordelia's question. Where's Connor?"  
  
"He's with Buffy. If it wasn't a Fantori, then..."  
  
"Buffy? You left him in Sunnydale?" Cordelia snapped. "Home of the happy hellmouth?"  
  
Angel ground his teeth together, but he kept his tone calm and even. This time, however, he had no trouble looking her square in the face. "He's fine. Now do we know what the demon actually was?"  
  
"It was a Sendezak." Wesley smiled weakly. "She was, umm, protecting her young when she attacked those boys. They were coming too close to her nest."  
  
"A Sendezak?" Angel sighed. They were among the more peaceful demons, aroused only to anger in self-defense. If anything, he would need to protect the Sendezak, not the other way around.  
  
"I can't believe you left him behind." Cordelia shook her head in amazement. "You'd barely let any of us touch a dirty diaper for the first month...not that we were exactly fighting over the honor, mind you...but still. And after a week, you leave him with Buffy...alone with Buffy."  
  
"I'm sorry, Angel," Wesley said, ignoring Cordelia's diatribe completely. "The Sendezak and the Fantori really do look very much alike." He waved his hand at the back of his head. "It's really only the color of the crest that tells you which is which...and that alley was rather poorly lit."  
  
"I know, Wes. I just...I wanted to...never mind." He sighed again. "I have things to do in LA anyway. Then I'm going back to Sunnydale. For just a few days," he added quickly. "I'll be bringing Connor back and...well...we'll see where we go from there."  
  
"Does Buffy know anything about kids at all?" Cordelia pressed. "Normally I'd say she could ask Willow for advice, but it's not like our wacky Wicca would have been putting a whole lot of thought into the subject after she decided to be gay."  
  
Angel felt a flash of exasperated affection, followed by the warm realization that there was nothing more, or less, to it than that anymore. Simple brotherly affection, mixed with the equally simple brotherly urge to strangle his annoying little sister. He'd been so busy the past few months trying to convince his heart that Cordelia was its rightful owner that he'd forgotten how much he enjoyed her friendship.  
  
"Can we get off the subject of my son's sleeping arrangements, please? He's fine...better than fine. I came back to settle things with Holtz, among other things, and Connor is safer out of the line of fire right now."  
  
Wesley's brow wrinkled. "Holtz? He's been very quiet actually. We haven't seen a sign of him or any of his compatriots in quite some time."  
  
"Not since you left town, that's for sure," Gunn added.  
  
Fred smiled brightly. "Maybe he left too."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Dawn, could you get the door?" Buffy called from upstairs. "I'm giving Connor a bath."  
  
"But I was going to do my homework," Dawn called back, snatching her hand away from the TV remote to cross her fingers behind her back.  
  
"The door, Dawn, and count yourself lucky I'm not asking you to spot me this time."  
  
Dawn shuddered at the memory of her last attempt to help with bath time. Warm water and baby boys do not mix. Still, her escape from the waterworks came with a price.  
  
"Dawn, get the door. Dawn, get the phone. Dawn, go to your room," the teenager in question grumbled as she headed for the front door. "If those stupid monks had given me a longer name, I could have been out of the house before she finished telling me what to do."  
  
She was still muttering under her breath as she yanked open the door and glared at the man standing on the doorstep.  
  
"If you're looking for directions, I'm not old enough to drive yet," she snapped. "We don't have much money, so we prefer to be on the receiving end of donations. And if you're a vampire," she shook her head, "you sure have picked the wrong house."  
  
"Vampire? Far from it." Holtz laughed softly at the private joke. "No, my dear child, I have a vampire problem myself, and I need help. Badly. I was told I could find it here."  
  
Dawn looked at him suspiciously for a moment, and then reached around behind the door to grab for insurance.  
  
Holtz smiled at the proffered cross and gently removed it from Dawn's hand. Slowly, making sure her eyes followed every move, he raised the crucifix to his lips and kissed it.  
  
Dawn stepped back from the door, opening it wider as she gestured to Holtz. "You pass. Help is upstairs being all June Cleaver, but I'll call her."  
  
* * * * *  
  
To Be Continued 


	6. Chapter 6

Heal Me  
  
Part 6  
  
By Gem  
  
  
  
Holtz watched the blonde-haired young woman descend the staircase. Her steps were quick and light, her carriage self-assured. She did not lack for spirit, this slayer; it would almost be a pity if she had to die. Still, he'd faced greater pities than that in his long day, and die she would, if the need arose.  
  
The choice was hers.  
  
"Buffy," Dawn said to the approaching slayer, "this guy has some sort of vampire problem. He says someone sent him here for help."  
  
Buffy laughed nervously, glancing from Dawn to Holtz as she cleared the last step and engulfed her sister's shoulders in a protective embrace.  
  
"Dawnie, you really shouldn't joke like that. Somebody's going to take you seriously one of these days." She looked sternly into the younger girl's eyes as she carefully said, "Vampires? You know there's no such thing as vampires." Buffy switched her penetrating gaze to Holtz, sizing him up as she continued. "Dawn and I have a little game that we play...a game that we played when we were little, that is...about vampires and witches and, well, all sort of bump-in-the-night stuff."  
  
"Please be at ease." Holtz's voice was smooth and warm, the better to soothe a conscience as guilty as this slayer's must be. "I too have experienced the unholy presence of the walking dead."  
  
"That's zombies," Dawn pointed out, trying to be helpful. "Vampires are the walking undead."  
  
Buffy grimaced at Dawn, but she let her arm relax its protective embrace. "She's really something, huh?" she asked Holtz. "My little dictionary of the damned."  
  
Dawn drew herself up to her full height, looking down on her older sister as she asked, "Just who are you calling 'little'?"  
  
"I am most sorry to intrude upon your evening," Holtz swiftly interjected. Time to get back to the business at hand. "I find myself with a most difficult dilemma, and I was told by a friend that you might be able to provide me with some assistance in resolving it."  
  
"Who's the friend and what kind of problem is he so nicely sending my way?" Buffy asked suspiciously. "I'm not exactly 'Buffy for Hire' or anything."  
  
"No, that's Angel." Dawn leaned against the banister, preparing for a good story.  
  
Buffy glanced sharply at her younger sister again, suddenly wary of mentioning her lover's name in this stranger's presence. She couldn't put her finger on the why of it yet, but the man made her uneasy.  
  
"Dawn, why don't you go up and check on the baby?" the Slayer suggested. "I put him in the trunk until I can finish his bath."  
  
"It's not really a trunk," Dawn said, seeing their guest's eyes widen at Buffy's comment. "Well, it is, but it's not like we close the lid or anything. See we don't have a crib and Con..."  
  
"Dawn," Buffy interrupted, "could you please go and check on him? Now."  
  
"But Willow..."  
  
"Is totally wiped and was going to bed right after her shower," Buffy finished for her. "And come to think of it..."  
  
"I'm going; I'm going," Dawn said hastily.  
  
Holtz let the sisterly bickering wash over him; he was too busy disguising his triumphant glee to give them any heed.  
  
The child. Justine had been telling the truth; the vampire had left his child here. Holtz had not believed Angelus would make it so easy; he had thought to deal with the girl alone first, and then retrieve the child in the ensuing uproar. But he was here; Angelus intended to use his offspring to win back his deluded lover, and what better way than to allow her full possession of him for a time?  
  
Now that time belonged to him, Holtz gloated.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy watched Dawn slowly climb the stairs, waiting until the younger girl had rounded the corner before she turned her attention back to Holtz.  
  
"I'm sorry," the Slayer said, waving at the top of the stairs. "It's a little crazy around here, well, always...but tonight especially."  
  
"I did not realize you had a new babe...baby," he corrected himself quickly, "in the house. Perhaps I should come back?" He let his voice drop off suggestively as he took a step towards the door.  
  
"No, it's okay." She shrugged. "We'll manage. And he's not exactly new...just a little new to us."  
  
"An adopted child, and at your tender age. How very...charitable...of you."  
  
"He's not..." Buffy eyed him sharply and decided in mid-protest to switch to a less dangerous topic. "He's not what you came here to talk about. So what is?"  
  
"Ah yes, my vampire problem. Could we perhaps sit down to discuss it?" He glanced back at the dimly lit living room.  
  
"I think we can talk better right here," she said firmly. "I don't have long to chat anyway."  
  
"Of course," he murmured. "The duties of a new mother."  
  
She flushed slightly, but did not correct him. "Vampires," she prompted. "You keep edging up on the subject and then running away after you ring the bell."  
  
He smiled gently, sensing she was being humorous, though the reference escaped him. Bell? What bell? Ah well, no matter.  
  
"They are fearsome creatures, are they not?" he asked instead. "Some more so than others."  
  
"And your friend suggested you stop by to tell me this?" Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Do you know who I am?"  
  
"You are the slayer," Holtz answered promptly.  
  
Buffy touched the tip of her nose with her index finger. "Got it in one. And you would be..."  
  
"You are the vampire slayer," Holtz continued as though she hadn't spoken, "who gave her heart to a demon and allowed him to flourish among his dark companions."  
  
"Yeah, that's what I figured," she said with a sigh. "Most people don't drop in to casually chat about vampires; they're usually looking for one in particular." She looked at him narrowly. "Why Angel?"  
  
"Angelus," he corrected her.  
  
She felt a chill chase down her spine and outward to every extremity, though she wasn't sure if it was her slayer sense or her heart setting off the alarms at the sound of Angel's old name. It didn't really matter to her where the warning was coming from, though; the message was clear. This was way more than the average threat to her beloved, as though she faced even those with equanimity.  
  
"Okay," she said slowly, biding her time as she fished for information, "so we're talking the bad old days here. Great, nineteen questions left. Or are you going to make it easy and tell me why you're looking for him?"  
  
"It is you that I seek, my dear, just as I have said."  
  
A sudden thudding of fist against wood on her front door postponed her quest for an answer that actually answered something.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Angel pressed his foot to the accelerator, urging the Belvedere to go just a little bit faster than its already excessive speed. He was wrong; he was sure he was wrong. They were all sure he was wrong. But if he was right...  
  
"Angel, man, if we go any faster we're gonna need an air traffic controller to get us down." Gunn leaned forward from the back seat and laid a tentative hand on Angel's shoulder. "Ease up a little. Not all of us are already dead."  
  
Angel's shoulder stiffened beneath the restraint, light though it was, but he backed off marginally on the gas pedal.  
  
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Maybe it would have been better if I'd come alone."  
  
The way he wanted to; the way he'd tried to.  
  
"Of course not, Angel," Wesley said heartily. "We decided, remember? One for all and all for one."  
  
"For one what, is what I'd like to know," Gunn said, leaning back into his seat and slipping an arm around Fred's shoulders. "Do you really think that Holtz followed you to this Sunnydale place?"  
  
"I don't know. But I couldn't get through on the phone, and he's missing, and..."  
  
"We never said he was missing," Cordy said. "We said we haven't seen him, which used to be considered a good thing." She brushed her hand over her hair, trying in vain to smooth it down. It didn't seem to matter how short she cut it; Angel's car always trashed her best styling efforts.  
  
Angel changed lanes, zooming past a white SUV that insisted on adhering to legal speed limits. "What it comes down to," he said, "is that we don't know where he is, but he could very easily know where I've been." Angel glanced quickly at Cordy as he explained himself for at least the twelfth time. "Even if he doesn't know Connor is still there, he could be going after Buffy."  
  
"And we're what? Going to protect him from her?" Cordelia huffed an impatient sigh before she took pity on her friend. "If you think Buffy can't beat up Holtz, love really is blind."  
  
"He's human," Angel answered sharply. "That makes a difference."  
  
"See, I've never understood that." Lorne took Gunn's place hanging over the back of the front seat. "Maybe it's just the demon in me, but I must confess I take a little offense to the 'humans first' attitude in this dimension."  
  
Cordelia made another futile attempt to smooth her hair, nearly knocking Wesley's glasses out onto the highway with her elbow.  
  
"You mean because they roll out the welcome mats for humans back in Pylea? Try looking at things from my stall in the cow barn for a change."  
  
She flung her arms down into her lap and growled in frustration. No wonder Angel used industrial-strength hair gel.  
  
"I never said Pylea was the known as the hospitality planet," Lorne huffed, sliding back in his seat. "I was merely making an observation."  
  
"Trust me, when you've had to wear a cattle prod as a choker, you lose all respect for the demons' point of view."  
  
"And it's my fault you don't have the neck for large jewelry?"  
  
Angel ground his teeth and focused on the road ahead, trying to tune out all the distractions that accompanied him. He didn't really care whether his friends were with him or not; the only thing that mattered was reaching Buffy and Connor. He had to make sure his family was safe.  
  
He had to get home.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Spike," Buffy said flatly, leaning against the frame of the open front door. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at her second uninvited guest of the evening. "Doesn't anybody stay home on a Tuesday night anymore?"  
  
The vampire cocked his head to the side and smiled winsomely. "What can I say? I missed you."  
  
Buffy's lips twisted in a sour reflection of his grin. "So exactly what part of 'darken-my-door-again-and-you'll-be-nothing-but-a-burp-from-my-hepa- filter' didn't you understand? I know it wasn't 'burp'."  
  
"Rules have changed, luv," he replied, waggling his index finger in her face. "Ward's gone back to LA and left the Beav all by her lonesome."  
  
"Even for you that's disgusting, Spike." She shivered at the unwelcome imagery. "And on so many levels."  
  
His voice deepened, slipping from flirtation to foreplay before she could say 'cold shower.'  
  
"You didn't used to think so."  
  
Buffy sighed and straightened up. "Actually I did; I just didn't want to talk to you long enough to tell you so. And you know, come to think of it, I still don't." She started to close the door.  
  
"You're gonna be sorry for turning me away," Spike called out hastily. "I can still help you."  
  
Buffy stopped the door just shy of closing, then pulled it open far enough to allow him to see her face. "You want to be helpful?" she demanded. "Tell me one thing: do you recognize this guy?" She stepped out of Spike's way to allow him to see the unnamed guest in her living room.  
  
Spike shot a fleeting glance at the stranger, and then returned his attention to his preferred object of attention.  
  
"Can't say as I do, pet. But if he's bothering you..." Spike let his voice trail off suggestively as he flexed a leather-clad bicep.  
  
Buffy shook her head as another tiny sigh escaped her. The funny way he talked, the use of Angel's old name, and now the lack of recognition on Spike's part...it all fit the timeline. Damn.  
  
"Go home, Spike," she said wearily. "He's human; the best you can do is annoy him to death. And even if there was something else...I still wouldn't ask you for help."  
  
"Have I ever refused?" He held up a hand in front of Buffy's face before her jaw could rise again to form a retort. "Yeah, well, old times there are best forgotten. You need me, pet; you just don't want to admit it. I'm the only one you could ever really count on. The only one who really understands what makes your ticker tick."  
  
"Once upon a time I was desperate enough to buy that line, Spike." She looked him straight in the eye, her own hazel depths finally clear of the anger and fear that had bedeviled her as much as Spike. "But the truth is, I just needed to find someone deader than I was, and you fit the bill. Inside and out."  
  
She shut the door in the face of the angry vampire without another word. Turning around, she leaned back against the heavy wooden door for support.  
  
"So, Mr. Holtz, where were we?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Inwardly Holtz applauded. She was a bright little thing, in most respects. He had to admire Angelus' taste in women...at least in this century.  
  
"I was about to convince a very beautiful...and very confused...young vampire slayer to do her sacred duty and rid the world of the most vicious vampire ever to darken its face."  
  
Or kill her; one would serve his purpose as well as the other, if not better.  
  
"Darn!" Buffy snapped her fingers. "And here I thought you were here to talk about Angel. Guess the joke's on me."  
  
"It will be a deadly joke indeed if you do not join me, my dear. Whatever sweet words the vampire may have plied you with, he is nothing but an animal. One day, when you feel most secure, he will turn on you."  
  
"And you'll be right there to protect me?" she guessed. "Aren't you the hero type? Ready to stand up against the big bad vamp just for little old me, who you never met before today." She slapped her flattened palm against her breast. "That's just so touching; they ought to make that into a movie or something. Really. Do you have an agent?"  
  
"You will not stand with me." He didn't phrase it as a question; there was no point. He had seen the answer in her eyes the moment she uttered the beast's name.  
  
"I stand with him," she said coolly, dropping both hands to her sides as they formed into fists. "Always."  
  
"Then you will die."  
  
Buffy smiled, a slow bone-chilling smile that sent an unexpected shiver down Holtz's spine.  
  
"I guess somebody didn't finish his homework," she drawled. "Cause if you did, you'd know you have to do a whole lot better than that in the way of threats."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Dawn slipped into the bathroom, choking slightly on the steam left over from Willow's long shower. She knew the pacifier was in here; she'd seen it on the counter that morning, right next to the hand lotion. Why it was in here, she didn't know. But Connor was fussing, and if she didn't find him a pacifier soon she'd never be able to creep back to the top of the stairs and listen in on the conversation going on downstairs.  
  
Wait, there it was, hiding behind the mouthwash. Correction: behind Angel's mouthwash, since he had some weird hang-up about everybody swigging out of the same bottle. Like the germs they carried could ever hurt him. Dawn sniffed at the insult as her hand closed over the pacifier.  
  
Just in time, she thought, hearing Connor's whimper through the open bedroom door. Any minute now that whimper would turn into a full-throated wail that would do a banshee proud.  
  
"I'm coming, Connor," she called quickly, hurrying cross the hall and into the dimly lit bedroom.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"You don't know him," Buffy insisted yet again. She was getting tired of repeating herself, but Holtz was apparently deaf to all but the voices in his own head. "You know the demon; I know the man."  
  
Holtz smiled, a distinctly pitying smile that grated on the Slayer's nerves.  
  
"You see what you want to see," he said smoothly, "and for you it goes no deeper than the dead flesh upon his bones. You see beauty in the form and assume it springs from within."  
  
"I know it does."  
  
"You need it to be so," Holtz countered, "but he is so far from the perfection that you believe that..."  
  
Buffy's exclamation cut off the rest of his speech. "Perfection? You think that I think Angel's perfect? Please. I've spent the last week of my life living with the man and let me tell you, perfect he is not." She rested one hand on her hip and raised the other to begin enumerating her lover's sins.  
  
"He hogs the covers, and then blames me because he says I kick in my sleep and chase him over to the edge of the bed. He's always putting his cold feet against mine in the middle of the night and," she paused for a moment, and then reluctantly curled her index finger back against her palm. "Okay," she sighed, "I guess I can't hold the cold feet against him. But he's a total nazi when it comes to where you're supposed to squeeze the toothpaste tube, and he spends way too much time fixing his hair for a guy who can't even see the end result."  
  
"Most amusing," Holtz said dryly. "I am certain you will keep Angelus laughing until the very moment he snaps your neck. Beyond even. That is, of course, if I am not forced to kill you first. It really is up to you."  
  
"And that's another thing," Buffy complained. "You actually think you can beat me, don't you? I mean you look at me and you see a slayer, but you still think that a spiteful little Popsicle like you can take me."  
  
"You are not a true slayer," Holtz replied flatly. "You could not be and let the beast live. I will be victorious."  
  
"Yeah, uh huh." Buffy raised a doubtful eyebrow to accompany her scathing tone. "So do you think Angel could beat you? Even though he's supposed to be some major force of evil and you're Frosty the Snow-White Knight?"  
  
"A vampire commands unholy strength, but ultimately the cause of the just will prevail. Whether I live to see it or not is of no matter."  
  
"So that would be a yes. You think Angel could beat you, but you could beat me...even though you're looking at the only human who's ever beaten him? Do the math."  
  
She smiled at the look of apprehension that darted across his face, but her victory was short-lived. A moment later a scream echoed down from the second floor.  
  
"Buffy!" Dawn shrieked.  
  
"Hold that thought," she advised Holtz before she turned on her heel and vaulted up the staircase.  
  
He followed at a much slower pace, quietly humming a lullaby.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy barreled into her bedroom as picture after picture of disaster flashed through her head. Connor falling; Connor choking; Connor just ceasing to breathe for no apparent reason...her own breath stopped at the last image. No, he was okay; he had to be okay. She would make him okay, no matter what it took.  
  
She almost slammed into Dawn in the darkened bedroom as her sister frantically back-pedaled towards the door, trying to tug Connor out of the arms of a strange young woman. A moment later a half-asleep Willow plowed into Buffy's back, pushing all four girls, and the baby they struggled over, towards the open window.  
  
Over the course of the week some necessary rearrangements had taken place in Buffy's bedroom, clearing space for two additional people to share it with her. The majority of her stuffed animal collection now resided in Dawn's room, the weapons were locked up downstairs in a plain but functional metal chest, and her slayer trunk had been moved to the side of the bed, no longer providing a barrier between the door and the open window.  
  
Mr. Pointy, however, had escaped Buffy's cleaning efforts and remained partially hidden by the bed-skirt. Justine's left foot landed on the lovingly carved, and heavily polished, stake as she attempted to regain her balance. Kendra's pride and joy rolled under the uneven pressure, throwing Justine's weight backwards as her arms opened wide to cushion her fall.  
  
"Connor!" Buffy screamed, in concert with Willow and Dawn. Six arms reached out to grab the falling child, and though Dawn was the closest the Slayer's hands stretched past her to snatch the falling child in mid- plummet. Buffy clung to the wailing baby for an instant, reassuring herself of his temporary safety, before thrusting him into Dawn's arms.  
  
"Take Connor to your room and try to keep him quiet," she said tersely. "Lock the door and don't come out until I come for you." She thought of Holtz, waiting downstairs, and she thought of the planning that must have gone into this night. Things were far from at an end. "Until Angel or I come for you," she hastily amended.  
  
Dawn awkwardly shifted Connor to her shoulder so that she could clutch Buffy's arm with her free hand. "Angel? But he's not even here...why would..."  
  
"Just go!" Buffy growled, pushing her sister towards the open doorway. Before Dawn could protest further, Buffy had turned away to face Justine, who was slowly getting to her feet. A moment later the slayer heard the sound of a door slamming, and she breathed a sigh of relief. The pawns had been removed; now the real battle could begin.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Holtz scanned the hallway as he rounded the top of the stairs: one half- open door at the end of the corridor, and four closed ones ranged before it. He could hear the sound of voices coming from the opened room, but the noise held no interest for him. Justine had many talents, the greatest of which was a distaste for needless conversation. If she had possession of the child she would have already left the scene.  
  
The so-called slayer, the traitor to her heritage, obviously maintained control of the room, and that meant the child would have been sent elsewhere. All he had to do was pick the right door while Angelus' playmate and Justine tried to convince each other of the rightness of their cause, and the depth of their passion for it.  
  
The first knob turned under his hand with ease; probably not the right one. Still, the slayer could be wilier than she appeared, and at worst there might be weapons to be obtained within. Nothing would go to waste in this war: not time or effort or a good stout stick. One day, one glorious day, a stout stick would be the greatest prize of them all.  
  
A stout stick and, Jesu willing, a filial hand to drive it into Angelus' chest.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Justine took her time standing up, gauging her odds at rushing the two other girls and beating them to the stairs. Not good. The window held more promise but she could easily get caught in the branches if she tried to climb down the handy tree, and jumping off of a second story roof held its own dangers. Her best chance seemed to lie with Holtz, and thus, with stalling.  
  
"You don't understand," she began. "You need to let me take the kid; I'm here to rescue him." More or less, she admitted silently.  
  
Buffy laughed sharply. "Rescue? From people who love him and take care of him? You're all heart."  
  
"No, from a vampire." This girl couldn't be as stupid as she sounded; it had to be an act. "I know what you are, and you know what will happen to that baby if I don't get him away from Angelus."  
  
"I know what will happen to you if you try," Buffy countered, her voice menacingly calm.  
  
"He's a vampire," Justine insisted. "They kill people...for food, for fun, hell, for something to do on a Saturday night. Haven't you ever lost somebody you loved to one of them? Because I have; that's how I know what they are."  
  
"You're lecturing me on vampire etiquette? You've never actually looked up my job description, have you?"  
  
"Look, just let me have the kid and you and Angelus can live whatever lies you want." Justine glanced from one hostile face to the other, trying to project sincerity. "We don't need for things to get bloody."  
  
Buffy smiled coldly. "I think we do," the slayer corrected her intruder.  
  
A spell, Willow thought; one little spell to freeze this girl in her tracks. Paralyze her arms so that she couldn't pick Connor up. Paralyze her legs so that she couldn't run away with him. Paralyze her breathing so that she couldn't...  
  
"No," Willow whimpered. She couldn't; she mustn't. If she gave in this once, all the months of self-denial would be for nothing, and Tara would be lost to her forever.  
  
Buffy didn't hear Willow's soft cry; she was focusing on the stranger, trying to read her intentions, beyond the obvious ones. The Slayer took a step to the side, changing the angle of her attack and forcing Justine to back away from the open window and towards the corner formed by the bed and the wall.  
  
"You came into my home," Buffy continued calmly, as though every nerve in her body wasn't screaming for her to throw this girl out the window and race back to Connor and Dawn. "You and your pal downstairs threatened my boyfriend, and my baby, and you think you're setting the rules?" Another step forward, the words rolling out of her subconscious without even registering as she stalked her would-be assailant. "If you get to walk out of this alive...and don't think because you're human it's a gimme...but if you do, it will be because you haven't actually harmed anyone yet."  
  
"We're saving that baby," Justine insisted. "Angelus is a monster...and you must be one too if you've had the power to kill him all along and you never used it. A slayer!" She spat on the carpet to expel the bad flavor of the word. "You're not even human!"  
  
"That tears it," Buffy snarled, launching herself at Justine.  
  
Willow stepped back to remove herself from the fray; she sensed Buffy had the situation well in hand even without magickal assistance. That was a good thing, she reassured herself. One thought teased at the edge of her consciousness, however; both Buffy and the girl had referred to a partner in the kidnapping attempt. If there was another intruder, was she, or he, still downstairs? Still somewhere in the house?  
  
* * * * *  
  
As he moved from one door to the next, Holtz heard the sounds of battle only as background noise; a fitting accompaniment to his holy war. Who won or lost that particular skirmish was of small concern to him; the important thing now was to get the child out while Justine finished off the Slayer. He had no doubt...well, very little doubt, at least...that his Chosen One would be successful. No one knew better than he: righteous wrath was a powerful weapon.  
  
And a wooden chair, applied with downward force to an old lock, wasn't such a bad weapon either.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Buffy," the witch called out anxiously.  
  
Buffy grunted as one of Justine's boots connected with her abdomen. The red-haired stranger was better trained than most humans her age, and very determined...for someone who was so completely wrong.  
  
"Kinda busy now, Will," the Slayer muttered, aiming her heel at the stranger's chin.  
  
"Is there someone else in the house?"  
  
Buffy's heel connected with Justine's chin, making a sickening snap that almost covered up the sound of wood slamming against wood now echoing down the hallway. The intruder dropped to the floor without an outcry as the Slayer whirled to face the hallway framed by her partially opened door.  
  
"Tie her up, Will," she ordered tersely. "I still have Holtz to deal with."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Dawn had heard the dull thuds coming from down the hall and tried to soothe Connor. These were noises he would have to grow accustomed to, given the family into which he had been born.  
  
But when the teenager felt the pounding resound against the walls framing her own door, and heard the lock that stood guard between them and danger begin to pull away from the wood, it was all she could do to keep from joining in the baby's helpless whimpers.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy darted into the hall in time to see Holtz shove open the remains of Dawn's door and step inside her sister's room. The Slayer bolted down towards her sister, never looking back to see if Willow was obeying her instructions, or caring if she'd left her best friend to immobilize a corpse. Connor and Dawn were the priorities.  
  
The room was empty, save for Holtz, when Buffy ran in. Her eyes moved rapidly from one corner to the next, but there was no sign of Dawn or Connor. She knew in an instant where they must be, and prayed that she was right. She needed room to deal with Holtz, and she didn't want either her sister or the baby she had come to love so dearly to see what that dealing would encompass.  
  
"This is the part where you give up and walk away, Holtz," she said, forcing the panic from her voice. She had to remain perfectly calm to get through this; there was no margin for error, and no time for pity. "You're not going to hurt him and neither is your little friend."  
  
Holtz turned to look at her, his gaze revealing a tranquility Buffy could only dream about...if insanity was 'the new black' of the season, that is.  
  
"I will not harm the babe," he said softly. Reassuringly. "I'm only going to kill you, you poor deluded girl." A smile flitted across his face. "I would have spared you if you had only joined me, but it really is better this way. When Angelus returns, he will find his woman dead..."  
  
"His woman?" she interrupted. "You time-traveled two hundred years into the future just to listen to bad country music?"  
  
"And his son lost to him forever," Holtz continued over her comments, "just as I found upon my return home one winter's eve. It's all so..."  
  
"Not happening," she finished for him, shaking her head. "So very not happening."  
  
He frowned, his eighteenth century mind lost in the modern wilderness of her grammatical structure. "I was going to say 'symmetrical.' Very symmetrical."  
  
"See now you're talking math terminology," she complained, "and that always makes me cranky."  
  
Holtz had retained the shattered remnants of the chair in his fists; he now wielded them as swords, slashing at Buffy with the jagged edges. She had thought it would be easy to get them away from him, but the madness of grief gave him an unexpected edge. Holtz had no regard for his own life or future; all he cared about was making Angel suffer, through Buffy's death or Connor's loss. He took foolish chances Buffy would not have expected, and used her surprise against her.  
  
The fight edged closer to the closet door, behind which Buffy knew that Dawn and Connor were waiting for her to save them.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Willow finished tying the last knot around the intruder's ankles and bound the other end of the torn sheet to the bed frame. The girl was still unconscious, and from the looks of her swollen jaw she wouldn't be able to scream for help from her companion, but Willow tucked the edge of a clean sock in her mouth to be on the safe side. It wasn't as good of a job as Buffy would have done, but Willow had done her best to make the would-be kidnapper secure. Now it was time to help Buffy more directly.  
  
Willow had heard of Holtz; Angel had explained his situation very clearly when he told the story of Connor's birth. The witch had felt Angel's guilt over the death of Holtz's family, and she could see that in some ways the vampire almost admired his enemy. So did Willow...in some ways. Just not in ways that would agree to Holtz bursting into their home and hurting Angel's son. Or any of the rest of them, for that matter.  
  
Buffy could undoubtedly kill him, and if she felt the threat to Connor was sufficient she probably would; Willow harbored none of Giles' illusions about Buffy's ethics when it came down to protecting those she loved. But a dead Holtz could become a live Holtz just as easily as Buffy herself had resumed breath and pulse. Someone had brought him here, and any someone who could bring a man two hundred years into the future could bring him backwards a day for a do-over if he failed to survive.  
  
Of course, that all depended on the illusory someone being able to find Holtz.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Given a few moments to measure her opponent's skill and lay out a plan of attack, Buffy would easily have been able to edge Holtz away from the closet door that shielded Dawn and Connor from his wrath. That same wrath, however, precluded preparation of any sort; survival was the watchword of the day.  
  
Holtz fought not like a demon, but like a desperate man, which made him much more dangerous. When Buffy managed to divest him of the broken remains of the chair, he snatched another one from in front of Dawn's desk and began slashing it in the air to keep the Slayer at bay. When she wrested that from his control, he yanked the drawers from Dawn's dresser and used those as weapons. No item was too small or insignificant to escape - not the trashcan, not schoolbooks, not even the nail polish bottles that lay scattered on the top of the dresser.  
  
"Hey!" she snapped, swatting at the bottles barraging her like so many armored flies. "Quit it with the bottle rockets. I get the message; I won't let Connor spend all his birthday money on junk."  
  
Gradually, one painstaking footstep at a time, Buffy was able to get between Holtz and the closet door, but it was due more to dogged determination than slayerly skill. Nothing in her years of doing battle against the various forces of darkness had prepared her for an enemy who believed so firmly in his cause that he would pepper her forehead with bottles of perfume to hammer home his point.  
  
"I will have," he panted, "the child. You will not...stop...me."  
  
She kicked up and out, aiming for high on his chest. "You want a baby," she growled, "make love, not war."  
  
She hissed with disappointment when Holtz stumbled and fell, only to drag himself to his feet yet again. No matter how many times she knocked him over, he always managed to reset himself like a homicidal bowling pin.  
  
"He belongs to me!" The sole unbroken lamp in the room joined its compatriots in the mosaic of broken glass on the floor as an exclamation point to Holtz's cry, but not before it rebounded off of the slayer's skull.  
  
The lamp stunned her momentarily, long enough for Holtz to start to circle back to the closet door. When Buffy realized what was happening, she mentally threw off her kid gloves. She had been trying to defeat Holtz without killing him; he was human and to use her destiny-driven powers to defeat him would be the same as murder. But in the instant she saw him stagger towards the wall, she realized that nothing short of his own death would stop him from taking Connor...and nothing short of her own death would make her permit that to happen.  
  
One arm swiped across her forehead, clearing the blood away before it dripped into her eyes. The other hand curled tightly in upon itself, forming a fist that could flatten a vampire with only a marginal effort.  
  
She had no idea what it could do against a human being when exercised without restraint.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Willow ran into the hallway in time to see Holtz flying out of Dawn's bedroom and into wall opposite the door. Buffy was on him an instant later, hauling him to his feet only to throw him down all over again, this time at the end of the hallway. Holtz managed a half-crouching stance before the slayer reached him at the top of the stairs; Willow had the uneasy feeling Buffy moved more slowly this time because she wanted him to fight back just a little while she finished him off.  
  
"Buffy, wait!" the witch called anxiously.  
  
It was too late; Holtz was already on his way down the staircase, head first.  
  
"I can't stop now, Will," Buffy said breathlessly. She turned up her palms, though it sounded as though the decision had been wrenched from her, not offered up willingly to fate. "It's either him or Connor."  
  
"But you don't have to kill him," Willow insisted. "I have a better way. A permanent way."  
  
Buffy drew in a huge lungful of air, trying to recoup her depleted resources. "And death isn't...no, guess not." She shook her head sharply, her wary eyes watching Holtz at the foot of the stairs for any signs of returning consciousness. "We don't have time for you to boot up, though, Will, and I really don't think it would..."  
  
"No, not computer help. Magick." Willow took a few hesitant steps towards her shocked friend. "I know I said I wouldn't any more, but I know of a spell...I found it when...well, that doesn't matter. But I learned it by heart and I know it will work. I know it."  
  
Buffy knew she should refuse; her qualms over killing Holtz were nothing compared to the potential for disaster if Willow indulged her own dark side. But Holtz, damn his fanatical self, was already starting to stir on the floor below. Options, and time, were at a minimum.  
  
"Do what you have to," the Slayer said. Holtz had forced all their hands, and there was no turning back now.  
  
"Okay," Willow agreed breathlessly. "But when I say 'Now!' you have to back off. I don't want you caught in the crossfire."  
  
Buffy started down the steps at a trot. "Can't promise anything," she called over her shoulder.  
  
"Buffy, you have to!" Willow leaned over the banister, clutching it the wood so hard it began to numb her fingertips. "I don't know what will happen if you get caught in the middle."  
  
Buffy stopped her forward momentum long enough to glance back up at Willow. The Slayer's face was calm and composed, so much so that it sent a wave of reminiscent fear through her best friend's heart. Buffy had looked just like this the night they fought Glory. The night Buffy died.  
  
"I'll try, Will," Buffy said steadily, as though she and Willow had all the time in the world for philosophical discussions about life and death. "But if we don't stop Holtz for good, nothing else will matter anyway. Not to me."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Angel swore as the Belvedere's headlights picked out a sign by the side of the road. Sunnydale 40 miles. Forty miles. That translated to at least a half-hour, maybe more. The closer he got to the town that used to be home...that once again was home, thanks to Buffy...the colder and tighter the feeling in his chest became. What had once been a possibility was now a certainty - something was going very wrong. And with forty miles to go, there was every chance he would not be there in time to make it go right.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Willow began the chant as Buffy hauled Holtz to his feet. It didn't appear the man should have much fight left in him, but seeing the slayer so close to him again had obviously recharged his batteries. He was back in his knock-knock with the knick-knacks phase, snatching at any random curios he could reach to swing at Buffy's face. She concentrated on keeping him busy, listening with half an ear to Willow's voice as it grew progressively more strident. She wasn't catching on to the exact meaning of the spell, Latin still not being her favorite dead language, but she did recognize the words 'tempus' and 'corpus' in the rhythmic flow of the incantation.  
  
'Corpus' was a not a word she could easily forget.  
  
Buffy could feel the instant the air changed. Something crackled, but it was not so much a sound as a feeling; a sensation of immense power surging through an area of space not quite large enough to fit it. Suddenly the show became auditory as well, a rumble growing in the air above Holtz's head.  
  
Buffy glanced up, and froze at the sight of a silvery swirl of clouds forming just below the living room ceiling, spiraling outwards in an ever- increasing circle of destruction. For an instant she saw the gaping hole of Acathla's mouth, and the lightning flashes shooting out from Glory's doorway to hell. She didn't even need to hear Willow shout "Now!" to know this was the time for all good slayers to decamp in the aid of their own self-preservation, but her momentary distraction had cost her dearly.  
  
Holtz was too far gone in his quest to let anything divert him now. He didn't hear the witch chanting her spell, he didn't feel the earth trembling beneath his feet, and he had no idea of the circle of doom coalescing just above his own exposed head. He saw, and heard, and felt, only the traitorous girl trying to destroy him for the sake of Angelus. And in the instant he saw her shift her gaze upwards, he slipped his bloodied hands around her throat and tightened.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Willow was one with the vortex. Its power radiated from the center of her being, and though she had not moved from her post at the top of the stairs, from its core she could see the struggle that raged in the living room. She was the vortex, and it was she, until the time came to spin the web loose upon its prey.  
  
She screamed, "Now!" at the top of her lungs, but in the instant before she lost all connection to the maelstrom she could see it was already too late. Buffy's attention had been drawn inexorably to the vortex, and Holtz had seized the advantage. Willow knew he couldn't possibly have the strength left to strangle Buffy, or even seriously injure her.  
  
Holtz wasn't the danger now.  
  
It was time that was the issue; time for Buffy to get far enough back to escape the pull of the fold Willow had opened in time itself. Ironically, it was a lack of the same that had prevented Willow from telling Buffy of the slayer's unique vulnerability to this spell. A spell cast to send Holtz back to the second in the flow of time when his molecules had escaped it.  
  
What would it do to a body pulled forcibly back into the flow of time after it had left that dimension naturally?  
  
* * * * *  
  
The vortex spiraled outward with monstrous speed, and then swooped down just as fast, engulfing both the man and woman who struggled beneath it. There was a hideous wail - of man, of woman, perhaps of time itself - and then the vortex was gone, leaving only a brief shimmer in the air to mark that it had ever existed.  
  
"Buffy!" Willow shrieked, running for the stairs.  
  
* * * * *  
  
To Be Continued 


	7. Chapter 7

Heal Me Part 7  
  
By Gem  
  
  
  
  
  
The Summers house was eerily silent in the wake of the vortex. The only sound to be heard was the pounding of Willow's feet as she bolted down the staircase and skidded to a halt in the doorway of the living room.  
  
"Buffy!"  
  
"Mmm, present...mostly." Buffy sat up slowly, rubbing her aching head as she surveyed her surroundings with bleary eyes. Too many missiles had rebounded off of her skull this night for even a slayer's comfort, and not all of them had been the physical kind. "Where's...where is he, Will?"  
  
Willow crouched down next to her best friend, brushing the tangled locks of blonde hair off of Buffy's forehead so that she could assess the damages.  
  
"He's gone," the witch said absently. "How many fingers am I holding up?"  
  
Buffy grabbed the three fingers waving in front of her and gripped them tightly. "Enough for it to really hurt if I start seeing how far backwards they'll bend," she warned. "Which I might just do if you don't make with the details. Where did Holtz go?"  
  
"Back."  
  
Willow started to stand up, her hands slipping beneath Buffy's arm to help her friend rise as well. Buffy forced her own arm downwards, keeping the witch on the floor next to her.  
  
"One syllable does not a detail make. Back where?"  
  
"To when he came from," Willow said, resigning herself to explanations before first aid. "It was a temporal vortex, designed to reunite his body with the point in time that the molecules left the natural time stream."  
  
Buffy stared at Willow in horror. "Are you completely insane?" the Slayer demanded. "Send him back to the guy who sent him forward in the first place? Why didn't you just let me kill him and solve the problem for good?"  
  
"You mean because death made such a lasting impression on you?" Willow pointed out. "Okay, well, I guess it kind of did...but not the kind we needed." She crossed her legs beneath her and prepared for the long version of the plan so briefly touched upon before its execution.  
  
"Anybody who can airlift a guy two centuries into the future isn't going to be stopped by an easy fix like death, Buffy. He...or she...could have probably raised Holtz like we raised you. Or maybe Holtz would just get the day as a do-over, except of course this time he'd be clued in to bring an army or something instead of one girl."  
  
"But now he'll just do it all over again anyway." Buffy closed her eyes and tilted her head forward, feeling the protest of her throbbing forehead as more blood rushed to it. "All that was for nothing; Connor...and Angel...are still in as much danger as before. More, maybe."  
  
Willow shook her head firmly, a mysterious little smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. "I said a temporal fold, Buffy, not a spatial one. I sent Holtz right back to the time he came from...not the place. He's here, in Sunnydale, just two hundred years or so ago."  
  
Buffy's eyes flew open as she turned her head to stare at Willow. "Here?" she whispered, not daring to believe her ears. "Hellmouth sweet hellmouth?"  
  
"Yup." Willow couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Who do you think he'll try to buddy up to first: the Spanish settlers, or the Shumash? One group won't like his accent, and the other won't trust the color of his skin." The witch was smirking; there was no other word for it. "Let's see his time traveling buddy help Holtz out of this...if he even survives the trip. You got him pretty good."  
  
"I know." The smile abruptly fell from Buffy's face. "I would have done more if you hadn't come up with that DeLorean twister, Will. I would have killed him."  
  
Willow reached out and clutched Buffy's shoulder tightly. "He wasn't giving you much choice. I mean what were we supposed to do?" She shrugged helplessly. "Call the cops and let them figure out how to keep a leash on him? Assuming we could even explain how and why he was here."  
  
"I wasn't actually thinking it out that clearly," Buffy admitted. She stared down at her bruised hands, still smudged with Holtz's blood. "He was trying to take Connor away, and trying to hurt Angel. I couldn't let him do it."  
  
"There's a reason you don't get between a mother lion and her cubs."  
  
"But he's not...he's not mine. Not really." Buffy looked up at Willow, searching her friend's eyes for some shred of disagreement.  
  
As always, she knew she could count on her Willow.  
  
"That's not what you told that girl upstairs." Willow grinned at the memory; at least something good had come of the disaster. "I think you stated your claim pretty clearly: my baby."  
  
"Oh yeah, umm, that." Buffy flushed and looked away. "Listen, can we...can we not mention that part to Angel quite yet?" She forced herself to face her friend again as she continued. "I mean we've just gotten back together and all and I...well, we're both a little wigged at how easily it all came together. I don't want things falling apart now just because he...I...we aren't ready to admit they aren't going to fall apart...if you know what I mean."  
  
"Not in the slightest, but I can keep a secret. Which," Willow added hastily, "is kind of what I wish you would do. About the spell...the magick. If Tara found out..."  
  
"Found out what?" Buffy challenged. "That you saved Connor's life, and Angel's, and maybe mine too? You weren't doing a spell for the thrill, Willow. We needed you tonight."  
  
Willow stood up in one abrupt movement, and began to pace the length of the living room.  
  
"But it's still magick," she protested, gesturing wildly with her hands. "Tara wanted me to stop...she said I was hooked...and maybe I really am because when you were fighting that girl I was thinking of the most awful ways to stop her...and then when I was tying her up I started thinking about ways to stop Holtz...and I hate to admit it but not one single solitary computer-y thought came to my head...not even hitting him with my laptop, which, well, I suppose wouldn't actually be very computer geek of me anyway...I mean, my laptop...but it doesn't matter because all I could think was spells anyway," she finished with a wail. "And if Tara found out..."  
  
Buffy scrambled to her feet, suppressing a groan. Regardless of Willow's attraction to things magickal, the Slayer would be grateful when her own body stopped the war between physical and supernatural strengths and let her feel like her old self again. Superpowers had to learn to work together.  
  
"Willow, relax." Buffy leaned over and stopped the witch in mid-pace to give her a reassuring hug. "I won't say anything; I promise." She pulled back, still holding Willow by the shoulders. "But you have to," she added firmly. "If you ever want things to be the way they used to be between you guys, you have to be honest with her."  
  
"I can't," Willow answered fretfully.  
  
Buffy sighed and dropped her hands down to her sides. "Look, we can figure that part out later. Right now we have to call Angel, and then call the cops. We might not have been able to explain Holtz, but I'm pretty sure the girl is from the present. Either that or she found a really progressive dentist way back yonder. I could have put on makeup by the light reflecting off her fillings."  
  
"Meow."  
  
The Slayer flashed her a quick grin. "That'll teach her to mess with the big cats."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Angel could see the flashing lights from the moment he turned onto Revello Drive, but he'd known they were going to be there for much longer. It had all been going too well; he had become, as Giles once aptly put it, complacent in his humanity. And now, as before, Buffy was the one paying the price for his arrogance.  
  
"What the heck?" Cordelia exclaimed, leaning over Wesley to get an unobstructed view of the organized chaos that reigned on the Summers' front lawn. "I know you thought something was up, Angel, but since when does Buffy voluntarily call the police?"  
  
"Maybe she couldn't, so someone else call...ouch!" Fred's voice trailed off after a sharp elbow dug into her side, followed by patently false smile of apology on the green face beside her.  
  
"I'm sorry, sunshine," Lorne said smoothly. "Was that your hip? I thought it was mine."  
  
"Uh, Lorne, you mind keeping that kind of confusion to a minimum with my girl?" Gunn asked, his polite tone at war with the possessive arm he tightened around Fred's shoulders.  
  
Lorne raised his hand in pledge. "Down to the bare bones," he promised.  
  
"Lorne, please," Wesley said. Normally Angel would have been the mediator, but Wesley could see his friend was too deep within his own thoughts and worries to even hear the conversation flowing around him.  
  
Angel wrenched the Belvedere across the road and onto the edge of the front lawn, jamming the gearshift into 'PARK' and sliding out of the car without even bothering to turn the vehicle off first.  
  
"Angel!" Cordelia called after him. "What do you want us to do?"  
  
"He doesn't hear you, Cordelia," Wesley murmured, his eyes following the dark figure that ran up the lawn and disappeared into the open doorway. "We'll just give him a moment or two and then we'll join him."  
  
"Join him in what?" Gunn asked uneasily. "I'm suddenly thinking the big guy's creepy crawlies weren't so all in his head after all."  
  
"Then he needs us more than ever." Wesley shrugged his shoulders as he turned in his seat to look at Gunn in the back. "Whom else does he have?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Angel bolted through the open door, ready to start bellowing Buffy's name regardless of any Brando-esque connotations his actions, and his leather coat, might inspire. Before he had time to open his mouth, however, he saw her in the hallway with Connor. The baby was resting quietly in her arms as she talked to a police officer, or someone Angel would recognize as a police officer when he could focus on anyone but his lover and their...his...child. Connor showed no signs of injury, but Angel could see fading bruises on Buffy's too-pale skin, and smell the hastily washed-off blood, some of it her own. But she was safe; they were both safe.  
  
"Angel," she said, sounding pleased but not very surprised.  
  
"Buffy," he breathed, reaffirming to himself that she was really here before him and not just a desperate dream.  
  
She quickly crossed over to him, since he seemed incapable of movement or further speech at the moment, so great was his relief. Buffy pushed Connor into his arms, leaving one hand resting on the child's back. The other hand she extended to brush against Angel's cool cheek.  
  
"He's okay," she said softly, reading the thousand questions and fears speeding through his mind and across his face. "We're all okay." She stood on tiptoe to press a gentle kiss on his frozen lips. "But I'm glad you're back anyway," she whispered against his mouth.  
  
He freed one arm from around Connor and suddenly slid it around Buffy's waist, pulling her so tightly against him that the baby squawked in protest. For an instant Angel allowed himself the luxury of feeling her body against his, so warm and alive and here with him instead of in a cold, lonely grave in the woods. Then reason, and his son's cries, began to reassert themselves over his fears and he let Buffy go.  
  
For the moment.  
  
"Are you the baby's father?" the policewoman asked, her pen and notebook at the ready.  
  
Angel could only nod, his eyes still following the prescribed pathway between his son's face and his lover's.  
  
"Mr." the officer began, pausing to allow him to fill in the blanks.  
  
"Just call me Angel," he said hastily.  
  
"Okay Mr., umm, Angel, I need to ask a few questions and then I can let you all have some peace and quiet," the officer said smoothly. "Miss Summers alleges two strangers entered her home tonight, one presenting himself at the front door as some sort of evangelist while the other climbed in a bedroom window. She believes they were conspiring together to kidnap your son."  
  
"Kidnap?" Angel asked sharply, his attention finally wrested from his beloved's face.  
  
"The would-be preacher escaped," the officer consulted her notebook, "a middle-aged man, shoulder-length greying hair, a little under six feet tall and rather stocky." She looked up at Angel, her face carefully blank. "Sound like anyone you know?"  
  
Angel could see Holtz's face flash before his mind's eye and a fury so great it nearly choked him swept over the vampire. With difficulty, he tamped it down for future use and concentrated on looking bewildered.  
  
"I don't...I'm not sure. I'm a P.I.; you run into a lot of not-so-nice people in my line of work. You say he got away?"  
  
He asked the question of the police officer, but it was from Buffy's eyes he received his answer. Something quick and dark flashed through her hazel depths, warning him of a less than clean resolution of the situation.  
  
"He did," the officer affirmed, "but his associate, a young woman, did not. The paramedics should be bringing her down any second."  
  
Angel didn't have to feign confusion this time; he had never pictured Holtz working with a woman, especially a young one. Holtz seemed too deeply entrenched in his Puritanical origins and the shattering of his family to have any interest in the opposite sex, even for business reasons.  
  
"A woman? Do you know who she is?"  
  
"Her driver's license says she's Justine McEnery, from Los Angeles. Does that name mean anything to you?"  
  
"No, I don't know anyone named Justine. Did she say she knew me?"  
  
The officer allowed herself a slight smile. "She's not actually saying too much of anything right now. The paramedics think your girlfriend broke her jaw...along with a couple other of her favorite bones."  
  
"She was trying to take Connor," Buffy said indignantly. "I already told you, the guy was obviously some sort of diversion to keep me downstairs while she took the baby. If Dawn hadn't walked in when she did..." She shivered in honest fear.  
  
"Is Dawn all right?" Angel asked swiftly.  
  
Buffy smiled up at him. "She's fine. She screamed and that woke Willow up, so the two of them held the girl off until I got free from the guy down here and went up to help. I got in a lucky kick," she flashed an impudent grin at Angel, "and she caved like Xander faced with a box of jelly doughnuts."  
  
"Miss Summers is pressing charges for breaking and entering and criminal trespass, but as the child's father you're the only one who can press kidnapping charges. I hope you will consider it."  
  
"I explained I wasn't sure if you could," Buffy hastily interjected. "I mean you are in LA most of the time still, and that would mean traveling here a lot to testify...traveling during the day...which I know is almost impossible for you." She forced a little laugh. "Because you're so busy and all."  
  
Angel weighed his options. He could see Buffy's point; his "allergy" to the sunlight would make a trial difficult, if not impossible, to attend. On the other hand, if he couldn't kill this woman for threatening his son...and he was pretty sure Buffy wouldn't let him do that...then he wanted her out of the way for a very long time to come.  
  
"How likely is it she would be convicted?" he asked, stalling for time.  
  
"Honestly? Not great. She never actually left the premises with the child."  
  
"Because we stopped her," Buffy protested, forgetting for an instant she was trying to persuade Angel not to press charges.  
  
The policewoman nodded. "So you say. And I'm sure your sister and your friend would back you up. But since she never actually left the house, she could plead guilty to the trespass and claim she just picked the baby up because he was crying."  
  
"While she was trespassing," Angel finished slowly.  
  
"I know it sounds crazy," the officer shrugged, "but I've seen nuttier things than that get past a jury. For that matter, she could turn around and press battery charges against Miss Summers."  
  
"For defending my home and my...boyfriend's baby?" Buffy asked. She didn't dare look at Angel to see if he noticed the slight pause in her protest; if he looked into her eyes he would read too many thoughts and feelings she wasn't yet ready to share with him yet.  
  
"Afraid so. I'm not saying she'd win...but it would be messy."  
  
"But you think the other charges will stick?" Angel asked.  
  
"You can't predict a jury, but I would guess so."  
  
"Then we'll go with just those," he decided.  
  
The police officer snapped her notebook shut. "Fine. I'll need you both to come down to the station tomorrow to sign some forms, but for now I can get out of your hair." She glanced up at the top of the staircase as she headed for the door. "And it looks like the paramedics are ready to leave as well."  
  
Angel turned around, leaving his arm draped around Buffy's waist as he watched the progress of the stretcher being carried down the stairs. The girl on it had her face turned away at first, but as they cleared the last step she rolled her head to look at him. Suddenly he knew why she had been with Holtz. The impotent rage in her eyes had found its equal in Holtz, and the two had fueled each other until an explosion was the only possible outcome.  
  
It wasn't over; he knew that now. It didn't matter that Holtz was dead and his companion in revenge safely caged. As long as one vampire remained free to take or destroy lives, it would never be over. Each death deepened a well of hate centuries in the making, and whether or not he had caused that death directly he bore the responsibility for it indirectly because of what he was. What he might always be.  
  
"It's not your fault, Angel," Buffy murmured.  
  
He glanced down at her, amazed at the way she could read his guilty thoughts.  
  
"Some...stuff...happened that made her want to hurt you, but it wasn't anything you did personally. She made you the fall guy because you were more vulnerable to attack. And that's what she was doing, Angel: not defending but attacking."  
  
"I know," he acknowledged with a reluctant nod. He reached over and closed the door behind the paramedics, forgetting for the moment about the friends he had left outside. "It's just that every time I think I've got the final tally on Connor's enemies, someone new crops up. It's bad enough that he'll be held responsible for the sins I've committed; now he's supposed to take the fall for every other vampire in the world?"  
  
"We won't let that happen," she promised, reaching up to stroke his cheek.  
  
He took her hand in his, lightly brushing his lips across her skin just to feel the resulting quiver traveling up the length of her arm. He needed some reminder that everything Holtz tried to take away was still here, and miraculously still his.  
  
"And how will 'we' stop it?" he asked.  
  
She tore her eyes away from the hypnotic play of Angel's mouth against her hand and grinned up at him. "I think you've forgotten just what it means to have a slayer on the home team."  
  
"You and me against the world, huh?" he murmured, turning his head to brush his cheek against her hand.  
  
"Who's crazy enough to try and stop us?"  
  
Angel raised an eyebrow at her sudden optimism. "Do you want me to start making an actual list, or is reading it off of the men's room wall at Willie's a good enough approximation?"  
  
"Eww." Buffy wrinkled her nose. "My name is on the men's room wall at Willie's?"  
  
"You're the Slayer; you have almost as enemies as Connor." Angel took a step closer, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "And you know, they're demons...and some of them are even dead...but they're not blind."  
  
Buffy heard the sound of a door closing on the second floor, reminding her that Connor was not their only audience. She shot a quick glance at the empty landing before turning back to Angel.  
  
"Can we, umm, hold that thought?" she asked reluctantly. "I kind of need a favor."  
  
Angel straightened, his temporary deviation into romance abruptly put on hold by the concern he read in his lover's hazel eyes.  
  
"You've got it, whatever it is," he vowed. "You know that."  
  
"It's Willow; someone needs to talk to her. You're doing really well with the whole conversation thing these days, and even when you were Mr. Monosyllable you still kind of knew the right words...word...to kiss away the emotional black-and-blues." She wagged a finger in his face. "But no actual kissing, okay? Just metaphorical."  
  
"Metaphors coming up. Where is..." he suddenly stopped talking and sniffed the air. Something was wrong. "Buffy, what is that burning..."  
  
Their eyes traveled together up to the top of the stairs.  
  
"Willow," Buffy breathed.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"That's it," Cordelia declared. "I didn't get to wait for Godot thanks to that completely reactionary director who insisted on sticking to an all- male cast just because the playwright wrote it that way like a hundred years ago and..."  
  
"Don't let Angel hear you talk like that," Gunn warned. "You know it just makes the man tense when you start making like a hundred years was a long time ago."  
  
Gunn's own fingers had been restlessly tapping on the doorframe for the past five minutes, but he was not about to be the first one to cave in to the mingled forces of curiosity and anxiety pervading the car.  
  
"And I'm not going to wait for Angel either," she finished, glaring at Gunn over her shoulder. Cordelia stretched over Wesley and pulled the handle to open the door. "We're going in. Now."  
  
"Maybe we should just give them a few more minutes," Lorne suggested. "You know, time to tidy up after the break-in or whatever."  
  
Wesley glanced at the driveway, now empty of emergency vehicles. "It appears the police have left the premises, and the ambulance as well. Since we haven't seen Angel yet, I presume Buffy was not the one they placed inside. That being the case, perhaps we could..."  
  
Cordelia didn't see any point to letting Wesley complete his thought; he'd already given in and that was what counted. She pushed him towards the passenger door with one hand as she reached for the latch on the driver's door with the other.  
  
"Great. Everybody out."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Willow!"  
  
The witch moved slowly down the stairs, still half in a daze from the magickal overload her system had sustained. At first her concern for Buffy had suborned the effects, but when her adrenaline had receded, the magick had not. A few stray sparks still jumped out from her hands as she ran her fingers down the banister.  
  
Buffy tried again. "Willow!" she called anxiously from the foot of the stairs. "Hands! Fire! Bad!" The Slayer turned to Angel, dropping her voice. "She's not really functioning on all cylinders right now, so don't use any big words like, well, 'cylinder,' okay?"  
  
"What happened? I thought you said everyone was okay."  
  
"She is. It's just...well, she used magick to get rid of Holtz and she's a little freaked about it."  
  
Angel kept a watchful eye on Willow as the Slayer reached out to take her best friend's hand. One renegade spark later, Buffy moved her hand up to hold Willow by the arm, leading the unresisting witch into the living room. She carefully settled Willow down between she and Angel on the sofa, and then Buffy reached across her friend to take Connor from Angel, leaving him free to concentrate on Willow.  
  
Holding the baby had nothing at all to do with making herself feel better, Buffy reassured herself. Nothing at all.  
  
"Maybe this would be a good time to tell me exactly what happened to Holtz," Angel suggested, gently holding Willow's chilled hands in his cooler ones. "I know he's gone...and I'm grateful, trust me. But I probably should know how. And where."  
  
The front door opened before the witch could answer, and Cordelia hurried through, followed by Wesley, and guy and a girl Buffy didn't know, and a green...man. But it was Cordelia who captured Buffy's attention.  
  
"You brought...them...with you?" the Slayer asked in disbelief. "Even, umm, the Lorne guy you told me about?"  
  
Lorne beamed at Angel. "Can't stop talking about me, eh big guy?"  
  
"I didn't bring anybody," Angel protested weakly. "I turned on the engine and suddenly there they all were."  
  
Buffy nodded slowly, still not quite believing her eyes. "Sure. Dad goes out for ice cream and the kids all go along for the ride."  
  
"They just jumped in." He shrugged. "I own a convertible; it happens."  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him, her tone only half-kidding as she said, "Sweetie, unless you remember to keep the top up, we're going to have to get a mini-van to cart everyone around."  
  
Cordelia held up her hands, warding off such a dire twist of Fate. "Oh no. We are not trading in the Batmobile for the Mystery Machine. That's out."  
  
Willow perked up briefly, shaken from her self-recriminations by a flash of the old rivalry. "Hey, the Mystery Machine was a classic symbol of sixties counter-culture." She pulled her hands free from Angel's grasp and leaned forward, resting her weight on her fists. "A group of friends living communally, forsaking the lure of corporate America to travel across the country trying to make the world a better...well, at least a not-so scary...place. And if it was good enough for Scooby-Doo..."  
  
"A dog," Cordelia cut in. "Good enough for a dog. Need I say more?"  
  
"Less would actually be better," Angel began. "Maybe you should all..."  
  
"Not to be dissing your heroes or anything, but something tells me corporate America wasn't exactly panting after the dog anyway." Gunn shrugged apologetically at Willow. "Or that Shaggy dude. How many times you think they serve doggie treats at a business lunch?"  
  
"But Velma," Fred added anxiously, "I bet they wanted her."  
  
Gunn nodded quickly, seeing the plea in his beloved's eyes. "Well yeah, Velma. Or maybe even that Daphne chick if you put her in a little Ally McBeal power suit, but..."  
  
Angel tried to regain control of the situation. "If you could just go in the kitchen and..."  
  
"Oh really," Lorne scoffed.  
  
Angel was surprised at Lorne's sarcastic tone, but relieved to have been heard. His reprieve, however, was destined for a quick and painful death.  
  
"Can't you just see a purple power suit?" the demon continued, rolling his eyes at Gunn. "The mind reels."  
  
"And on a redhead, too," Cordelia chimed in. "Like that is a color they should ever wear on a non-colorblind planet. Even Willow knows better than that." She shot a quick, concerned glance at her old schoolmate. "You do know better than that, don't you, Willow?"  
  
"Cocoa's ready!" Dawn called out, coming into the living room directly from the kitchen with three steaming mugs balanced on a wooden tray. "Come and get it before the marshmallows...oh." She came to a quick halt when she saw the crowd in the room, narrowly avoiding the creation of a chocolate waterfall.  
  
Squabbling ceased as all heads turned to pay homage to the comforting aroma now pervading the air.  
  
"Saved by the chocolate cravings," Angel muttered under his breath. He settled back into the sofa cushions with a barely disguised sigh.  
  
"I didn't know anyone else was here. Besides the cops, I mean." Dawn glanced down at the three lonely mugs on the big tray. "I guess could make more cocoa," she offered weakly. "You know, if anyone is thirsty or anything."  
  
"That's a great idea, Dawnie." Buffy glanced quickly at Angel and almost laughed at the naked relief in his eyes. "Why don't the rest of you go into the kitchen with Dawn and get something to drink? You just had a long ride and I bet Angel is lousy at remembering to stop for things like snacks."  
  
"Among other things," Lorne grumbled, shifting restlessly.  
  
"Upstairs, third door on the right," Angel sighed. "And all you had to do was ask; I would have stopped."  
  
"You didn't stop for red lights or speed traps," Gunn protested as Lorne darted up the staircase. "Poor guy was probably afraid you'd toss him into the bushes and pick him up on the way back."  
  
"Why don't we adjourn to the kitchen for now," Wesley said mildly. "We can discuss Angel's driving habits at a more propitious time. And I, for one, could use a spot of tea." He thought about the long drive from LA, rendered much shorter than usual courtesy of Angel's lead foot. "With, perhaps, a chaser."  
  
Buffy smiled gratefully at her former Watcher. "We really do need to talk to Willow alone, if you don't mind."  
  
"The rest of you go ahead," Cordelia suggested. "I'll put Connor down." She looked sternly at Buffy. "It's way past his bedtime."  
  
"Cordy, thanks, but no," Angel said quickly, jumping in while Buffy was still debating between suppressing her anger and letting it fly. "We want him here with us for a while longer." He nodded at the sleepy child, cradled in Buffy's arms. "He's fine, see?"  
  
"I guess," Cordelia said grudgingly.  
  
She couldn't quite shake the weird feeling it gave her to see Angel's son in Buffy's arms, looking like, well, like he belonged there. A part of her knew this was right; this was what she had wanted for Angel all along, deep...really deep...down. But seeing the three of them together like that on the sofa was almost like looking at the cover of some old-time magazine...if Norman Rockwell had ever painted "One Vamp's Family."  
  
Fred tugged gently, but insistently, at Cordelia's sleeve. "Cordy, if you don't come quick all the marshmallows will be gone. And cocoa without marshmallows is just a concatenation of alkali-processed beans, phosphates and diglycerides. With, of course, enough added soybean oil and whey to provide texture."  
  
"You really know how to take all of the flavor out of life, don't you Fred?" Cordelia commented as she let Fred lead her into the kitchen.  
  
Fred shrugged. "That's what the marshmallows are for."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Now that we've gotten rid of the chorus," Angel said quietly, "why don't you tell me about Holtz, Willow?"  
  
Willow looked down at her hands, at the hands that cradled the power of a temporal vortex between them until it was ready to set loose upon an unsuspecting...evil guy. Holtz was an evil guy, she reminded herself. He'd tried to take poor little Connor away, and he was willing to kill Buffy to do it. He was the evil one, not her. She was just...an addict.  
  
"It was a vortex," she sighed, surrendering once more to her guilt. "I wish I could have thought of some other way to get rid of him...or maybe if I'd let Buffy..."  
  
"Kill him," Buffy finished for her. "I was going to kill him, Will, and you knew that. At least you gave him a fighting chance."  
  
Angel was torn between relief and alarm. He didn't want Willow to bear the weight of a human life on her conscience, and he certainly didn't want that for Buffy either. But a live Holtz was an accident waiting to happen, and it was waiting to happen to his son.  
  
"You mentioned a vortex," he prodded, fighting down the urge to grab the witch and shake a coherent story out of her. "What kind of vortex? Where did it send him?"  
  
"When."  
  
Angel frowned. "I don't need that much detail, Willow. I know it was sometime in the last couple of hours."  
  
Willow shook her head, further confusing the vampire. "No, that's not the kind of 'when' I mean. It was a temporal vortex, so I didn't send him to a where, but to a when."  
  
"A when? Which whe...what...when?" he growled in frustration.  
  
Buffy looked up from studying Connor's amazingly tiny, amazingly perfect, right hand. "His own when. The 'when' when he left his own...Willow, you know Angel's right; this 'when' thing really is kind of awkward."  
  
"Fine, next time you pick the metaphysical garbage disposal," Willow retorted indignantly.  
  
"Okay, okay." Angel held up his hands in surrender. "So you sent him back to the eighteenth century; I get the picture."  
  
Buffy grinned, her good humor fully restored at the memory of Holtz' current, or rather, past, plight. "She sent him back to good old Hellmouth central, circa 'circle the wagons cause them Injuns are on the warpath'." She quickly assumed a more serious expression at the sight of the stormy look in Willow's eyes. "Sorry Will. The Native Americans were...demonstrating their disagreement with the subjugation of their lands and people by marching their horses in a circular fashion around the settlers...while holding loaded weapons. The Native Americans holding the weapons, I mean...though I guess the settlers had a few too."  
  
"So he is, or actually was, in Sunnydale," Angel said, wrenching the conversation back on track. "Why send him back here? I can see avoiding the exact place where he came from - he'd only repeat the past. But why Sunnydale?"  
  
Willow shrugged. "There weren't many people here...other than the Shumash, who won't want anything to do with him. I didn't want him interacting with people he wouldn't have met before. You never know what damage you can cause by playing with a timeline. You think you're fixing one little problem...but who knows how many rifts you're opening?"  
  
Angel though guiltily of the Oracles, and the day he had forsaken to purchase Buffy's life. He'd often wondered what might have happened if he had left the events of that day unchanged. Would he have found a better way to defeat the Scourge if he hadn't depended on his own demonic strength, strength that later was required of Doyle instead? Would Buffy have despaired to the point of offering her own life for Dawn's if he had been there to support her? Would he have been as susceptible to Darla's mindgames if Buffy had been at his side? Would Connor have even been born, or would he instead have been...no, there was no point in letting the wondering game go so far. What was done was done, but he did see Willow's point.  
  
"You probably did the right thing," he mumbled, trying to clamp the lid down on his wandering thoughts.  
  
"There's no 'probably' about it," Buffy said indignantly. "She did do the right thing. Tell her she did the right thing, Angel."  
  
He looked up, startled out of his reverie by the sharpness in his beloved's tone of voice. Suddenly he realized where his silence had led her.  
  
"You did the right thing, Willow," he hastily assured the witch. "I know you're trying not to use magick, and believe me, I understand, but you did what needed to be done."  
  
"I don't think Tara is going to agree with you," Willow said glumly. "I worked so hard to stop...and I was doing really well too..."  
  
"You were doing great," Buffy said, patting her on the back.  
  
"But now it's all ruined and I have to start over." She looked down at her hands again; they looked too small to have wrecked three lives with a single twist. "At this rate I'll never get my 20-year cake."  
  
Angel sighed, reminding himself that for all her ancient knowledge, Willow was still very young in her heart.  
  
"Willow," he said patiently, "you're not an addict. At least you're not addicted to magick."  
  
"You haven't been here, Angel. You don't know."  
  
"No, but I've heard a lot about the past few years in a really intense format this last week. I also know what kind of a person you were before I left Sunnydale, and I don't think you could have changed that completely in three years." He smiled sheepishly. "I did a lot of lurking in the old days, Willow; I saw more than any of you realized."  
  
Buffy leaned across Willow and patted Angel gently on the knee. "That's my sweet stalker guy."  
  
He shrugged, the promise of the future stretching before them removing most of the sting from his memories. "What else was I supposed to do during the daylight but watch from a distance? I couldn't very well ask you to join me in the sewers."  
  
"I would have," she protested.  
  
Angel nodded, his voice becoming slightly husky as he answered, "That's why I never asked."  
  
Willow could feel the temperature in the room suddenly leap up a few degrees. She cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably on the sofa between the lovers. A need for Tara's warm presence overwhelmed her.  
  
"Umm, guys, still actually here," the witch mumbled miserably, wishing she were anywhere else...as long as that 'else' included Tara.  
  
Angel laughed self-consciously, deliberately moving his large body further away from his companions. "Willow, will you take it from someone who knows - what you crave is control. And until you start dealing with that problem, you'll be at the mercy of whatever gimmick of the week seems to give it to you."  
  
"Angel," Buffy said warningly. "Willow doesn't need you to make fun of her problem."  
  
"I'm not making fun," he said earnestly. "I know a little something about this, Buffy; why do you think I did the things I did to Dru?" He looked away for a moment as he added, "Or to you?"  
  
"Don't."  
  
"I spent most of my human years feeling powerless," he rushed on, not wanting to delve into old pain any more than Buffy. "My father had a way of doing that to me. So when I was changed, I wanted control more than anything, not over myself but over others. For a long time I felt like the demon gave it to me."  
  
"And that spells Willow to you how?" Buffy glanced apologetically at her best friend. "Sorry, Will; the pun just sort of slipped in."  
  
"It's normal to want to take charge of your own life, especially when you're young," Angel said gently, "and that's when it's the hardest to do. That's where addictions come from. But Willow...what you're looking for is control of the world around you, and magick was simply the fastest way you found to achieve it. You could just as easily have used your computer and hacked your way into the captain's chair." A warning note entered his voice. "You still might."  
  
Willow quickly pushed aside long-forgotten memories, those of her own demon beau. Moloch's scheme to rule the world through the Internet, with Willow as his queen, was nothing like her attraction to magick. Just because magick had proven to be more powerful that night, and helped to save her life, didn't mean she had weighed them each as opportunities for advancement and found computers wanting. Or that now, having cut herself off from magick, she would return to her first love.  
  
"The magick...it really does make me feel something," Willow protested. She waved her hands in the air, trying to spin the words to describe her emotions as easily as she had brought the vortex into being. "There's a power flowing through me that I can't describe; that's what I crave."  
  
"You can describe the power, Willow; it's called control over the elements." Angel shrugged. "You have time at your disposal; you can bend Nature to your whims; you can make people do what you think they should do, and even bring them back from the dead to do it." His dark eyes were filled with a strange kind of pity as he added, "You can create your vision of the perfect world and you don't have to let anyone else's vision get in the way."  
  
"You make me sound horrible." Willow stared at him in shock. "I'm not like that; I'm not."  
  
"Of course you're not." Buffy glared at Angel; she had not been expecting this. He was supposed to be comforting Willow, not confronting her. "You're not helping, you know."  
  
"I'm being honest," he countered. "It will help more in the end than tact; I've learned that the hard way from Cordelia."  
  
"So very much the person to be taking mental health tips from," Buffy offered tartly, tossing her head in an unconscious imitation of the self- same guru.  
  
"She keeps herself saner than most of us in the middle of this mess." Angel's smile was apologetic, but his tone remained firm. "I'm not saying her methods work for everybody, but..."  
  
Buffy held up her hands, partially in surrender and partially to cover the sight of her grinding teeth. "Not going to argue Cordy-issues here," she vowed. "Unless she hogs all the marshmallows. My point is that you're making Willow feel worse about herself instead of better. She had to make a quick decision and she made the right one. At least I think so."  
  
"You're safe, Connor is safe; I think so too." Angel turned his attention back to Willow. "Buffy is right, Willow. You did the best you could to help others in a tight situation; that's all anyone expects of you." He tried to soften his words with a lop-sided smile as he added, "You're not actually supposed to control the universe, you know, so no one expects you to be perfect at it."  
  
"But Buffy could have been killed," Willow protested, her forehead creased in an anxious frown. "I mean I didn't know what would happen to her when I let go of the vortex. I tried to warn her..."  
  
"I heard you, Will; there just wasn't time."  
  
"But if I told you before..."  
  
"There wasn't time then either," Buffy firmly overrode her. "You told me I had to get out of the way when you gave the signal and I blew it. My bad, not yours."  
  
Angel looked sharply at Buffy as an old fear he'd hoped to keep buried clawed its way back to the surface. "She warned you and you just ignored her?"  
  
"It wasn't personal." Buffy raised an eyebrow at Angel's unexpectedly harsh tone. "She didn't have time to stretch the blueprints out on the table or anything, but I got the gist. It didn't break down the way it should have, that's all. But Holtz didn't get Connor; that's what's important."  
  
"No, we didn't lose him," Angel murmured. He understood, far better than Buffy suspected he did, how much that meant to her.  
  
"I knew you wouldn't let anything happen to Connor, Buffy," Willow broke in. "You were the one I was worried about. We...I...pulled you forward in the time stream when I brought you back to life. I didn't know what would happen if the vortex...it could have sucked you right back into being dead...or worse." The witch glanced miserably at her best friend, who immediately placed a comforting arm around her shoulders.  
  
"Sometimes you don't get a lot of time to make the big decisions. You just have to do what you think is right and hope everything works out. And it did, didn't it?" Buffy squeezed Willow's shoulder as she added, "The big bad vortex didn't get me, so I maybe I'm supposed to be here after all. Go figure."  
  
Angel stiffened abruptly at the surprise in her voice. "I think it's time Connor went to bed," he mumbled, reaching across Willow to take the baby from Buffy.  
  
The Slayer frowned, sensing something had suddenly shifted. "Angel, what's wrong?" she asked worriedly.  
  
"Nothing," he answered tersely, not daring to look at her. "It's late. He's tired."  
  
Angel stood up and headed for the stairs without another word, smoothly dodging out of reach when Buffy tried to grab him by the arm. She started to follow him, and then hovered indecisively in the archway between the living room and the hallway, watching him beat a hasty retreat to the second floor.  
  
"What just happened here?" she asked Willow, her eyes firmly pinned to Angel's back.  
  
"That's what I'd like to know." Cordelia huffed impatiently as she strode into the living room from the kitchen. "We finally convince Heathcliff that having just a little bit of fun won't make his face, or his curse, crack...not an easy task, if I do say so...and then a week with you sends him back to roaming the moors. I just can't trust you alone with him, can I?"  
  
Buffy heard something that sounded almost like anger in her old rival's voice, but the Slayer's mind was too busy mining the past few minutes' conversation for clues to form a suitably caustic rebuttal.  
  
"He looked mad," Buffy fretted. "But it's not like Angel to bail when that happens. Actually it's not really like him to get mad even...unless there's some sort of human sacrifice going on."  
  
"Gee, wonder who he learned to take the emotional express-checkout from?" Cordelia tapped her foot on the hardwood floor. "Are you going after him or am I?"  
  
The Seer's tone, verging as it did on proprietary, finally penetrated Buffy's consciousness and ground its way into barely healed wounds. She stared at her former classmate, her old rival, her lover's best friend.  
  
"Put one foot on those stairs before I say the word, and you won't have a hair left on your head to bleach." The Slayer smiled sweetly as she stepped up onto the first riser. "Not that it would be too easy to color your hair in your future armless state anyway."  
  
"Buffy! I was only trying to..." Cordelia's voice trailed off as the Slayer vanished from sight. She appealed to Lorne, who was peeling himself off of the wall behind the landing in the wake of Buffy's whirlwind flight to the second floor. "Do you believe that? I was only trying to help, Lorne. Angel sees that now; why can't she?"  
  
"Blessed are the peacemakers," he answered, "but no one ever said they were popular." He hurried down to soothe his distressed friend. "I know it's not fair, my lovely olive branch, especially after you did such a bang-up job playing 'Mommy' when Angel's little bluebird of happiness fell off the White Cliffs of Dover. But he's all grown up now, and ready to leave the nest." He stretched his arms wide open and inhaled deeply. "Can't you feel spring in the air? It's mating season."  
  
"Leave the nest?" Cordelia looked alarmed. "He's not just junking the car - he's tossing the passengers too?"  
  
"Oh I wouldn't put it like that...but yes. Eventually. Nothing to worry your pretty little..." he did a quick visual reconfirmation, "blonde head over, though." Lorne draped an arm around Cordelia's shoulders and pulled her in for a quick hug. "These things take time, and we've got nothing but, right?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Lilah Morgan pulled a battered manila folder from the top drawer of her filing cabinet and slapped it down on her otherwise immaculate desktop. Smiling politely at the guest floating ever so slightly in front of her desk, she took her seat and opened the folder.  
  
"Mr. Sahjhan," she began, "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you, but the firm wanted to give your proposal a thorough review before making any decisions about committing time and resources to its, shall we say, execution."  
  
"But you have come to a decision?" the demon asked, shimmering slightly as his eagerness overwhelmed his tenuous grasp on this reality.  
  
Lilah's smile grew broader, baring teeth many a wary co-worker insisted had been sharpened on the bones of her former supervisors after an impromptu tour of the senior partner's wine cellar last winter.  
  
"We most certainly have. Please, let me tell you all about it."  
  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
To Be Continued 


	8. Chapter 8

Heal Me  
  
Part 8  
  
By Gem  
  
Angel tried to control the shaking of his hands as he laid Connor in Buffy's old slayer trunk; the baby was asleep, and Angel wanted him to stay that way. Here, in the dark sanctuary of the bedroom, both father and son needed time to rest and regroup. And do some serious thinking about the future.  
  
He loved Buffy, god how he loved her. And he loved the family they were already beginning to build; he knew she did too. Until tonight he had believed...he had made himself believe...that would be enough to hold her to this world. But she had surrendered to the darkness before, and he suddenly realized it no longer held any dread for her; a part of her almost seemed to miss it.  
  
That terrified Angel.  
  
He had always known, if not fully accepted, the risks of her calling. Despite the real possibility that Buffy would not be there to see Connor grow to adulthood, Angel had no qualms about entrusting his son to a woman willing to die in the defense of others. But to entrust the same child to a woman who would rather die than endure the loss of her loved ones...that was something very different. Along that path might lay a danger he had no right to expose his son to.  
  
He had to make her understand the need to stay and fight, the same way she had once made him face the darkness. But it had taken more than words to convince him that snowy Christmas Eve, and he wasn't sure if even Willow had enough magick up her sleeve to conjure a miracle that would save them this time.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Tara, is that you? It's Willow. I need..." Willow turned her back on the kitchen door, trying to ignore the seeming hordes of people drifting in and out of the area in search of refreshments. "I need to talk to you," she said softly, trying to control the catch in her voice. "I need to see you. Tonight. Can I come over?"  
  
"I don't...I don't think that's a really good idea," Tara answered slowly. "It's late and I'm really tired and."  
  
"It's important, or else I wouldn't ask," Willow pleaded. "I can't come right away, because Buffy might need..." She paused as her words echoed mockingly off of the pitiless steel of the refrigerator door. "Oh, that probably means he was right, doesn't it? If I stay because she might need me to...but she's my friend so I have to..."  
  
"Willow."  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the witch said hurriedly. "I've just been doing some thinking...I mean I did something tonight that made me think...and then Angel said some things that made me think other things and I...I really need to know what you think...about what Angel thinks I should be thinking about instead of what I was thinking about."  
  
"Willow I don't..." Tara's strained voice stumbled to a halt. When she spoke again, there was a heavy sorrow in her tone. "Willow, what did you do tonight?"  
  
Willow bit her lip. "That's what I need to talk to you about," she whispered. "I think it was something wrong, but I'm the only one. And if they're right...I really need to know if they're right."  
  
Tara's sigh moved reluctantly along the length of cables separating them. "All right; come on over. But Willow," she warned, "one revelation can't automatically fix everything that went wrong between us."  
  
"I know; I know," Willow assured her, staring down at her tightly crossed fingers. "But we have to start somewhere."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Angel."  
  
Angel stiffened when he heard Buffy's voice call to him from the doorway. He forced himself to relax and continued to tuck the tiny green blanket loosely around Connor's small form.  
  
"He's asleep," he warned, forcing himself to sound casual. "Don't talk too loudly."  
  
"If he wakes up we'll just settle him down again," Buffy said firmly. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared hard at his broad back, trying to force him to turn and face her through sheer force of will. "I'm not planning on yelling, but you have a habit of making me do things I didn't plan on. Stuff like falling in love with a guy twice my great- grandmother's age."  
  
"You weren't exactly on my century-at-a-glance calendar either." Angel stared down at his son, the baby barely visible in the dim light slipping in from the hallway around Buffy's rigid figure. "Neither was Connor," he added softly, reaching out to caress a downy-soft cheek.  
  
"But we're both here, and now you have to deal with us." Buffy slowly moved into the room, flicking on the lamp on her desk before she crossed back to close the door. "I guess right now it's my turn, since Connor nodded off after the lightning round."  
  
Angel's back stiffened again. Slowly he raised his head, turning slightly sideways to stare sightlessly at the closet doorknob. "Was that what it was like? Lightning?"  
  
She frowned at the strange question. "What what was like?"  
  
"Willow's vortex. Glory's portal. Take your pick." He laughed sharply. It wasn't like she hadn't done that before.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Buffy was totally confused now, not seeing where his mind had made the leap back almost a year in time. "The vortex was kind of twistery, if you must know, but with fewer cows...well, no cows actually. The portal..." she rubbed her hands on her bare arms as an unexpected shiver raced through her. "Yeah, there was some lightning happening there," she murmured.  
  
"Just lightning?"  
  
He still couldn't look at her. If he looked at her, he would push everything to the side once more and take her in his arms, and he couldn't do that again. They needed to face this now, here, tonight.  
  
"No," she said slowly. "There were also some high winds and sort of a Tasmanian Devil dance going on in the center. Any more ancient weather reports you want to go through?"  
  
"I want to know what you were thinking." The words came out choppily, each one reluctantly dragged into the light. "I want to know what you were feeling. I want to know if you thought of anybody else's pain that night but your own."  
  
There, he'd said it. He could at last stand up and face her, turning just in time to see the last trace of color drain from her shocked face.  
  
"Excuse me?" she whispered.  
  
Angel threw up a mental wall against the hurt and betrayal he saw glimmering in Buffy's eyes, even as he fought back the images flashing through his memory. Last spring. The season of new beginnings. A time of renewal and rebirth.  
  
The death of his light.  
  
He'd visited her home, her bedroom, trying to absorb the final imprint she had left on her earthly possessions. The city had dismantled the tower from which she'd leapt, but not before he'd stood on the edge of the platform, looking out and looking down. He'd smelled the blood on the pavement below that no amount of cleaning would ever hide from his senses. He'd seen and experienced it all...when it was too late for anything but grief and guilt.  
  
Funny how there was always time for those.  
  
"I asked them all when I came back here with Willow," he said hoarsely, "but no one knew. They might have suspected...but no one would admit it."  
  
"Admit what? Give me a clue what I'm supposed to be confessing, Mr. Mason."  
  
"You were their hero. You died to save Dawn, and to save the world." The dead look in Angel's eyes was a shivering accompaniment to the distant tone of his voice. "And if any of them believed there was anything more behind it...I'd be the last one they'd tell." His voice became a growl as he added, "I wasn't here; I didn't earn it."  
  
"Look, I don't know what your problem is about tonight's adventure in babysitting, but last year is over and done with."  
  
Buffy's voice was sharp with anger, and something approaching fear. She had worked very hard to block out the memory of the final days of her old life, and she wasn't sure if she was strong enough even yet to immerse herself in all that misery again.  
  
"I did die to save Dawn; did you really expect me to let her sacrifice herself to..."  
  
"To save the world?" he finished for her. "You mean the way you did when you faced the Master?"  
  
Angel still had nightmares about the way they'd found Buffy that night, face down in a dirty pool of water. So cold and alone, her young life forfeit to a destiny she never asked for. And as soon as she was revived, before the water even had time to stop dripping down the front of her stained white prom dress, she was marching into battle yet again. Ready to fight to the death...and beyond.  
  
"I'm the Slayer," Buffy hissed. "It's part of the deal."  
  
She had her own memories of the night the Master rose. She remembered what it felt like to know you were going to die before you even knew how to drive; to know there was no way out and no one to save you because this was what you had been created to do.  
  
But not Dawn. Not Dawn.  
  
"And Dawn's the Key," Angel insisted, refuting the little voice in Buffy's head as though he could hear it himself. "Maybe that was part of her deal. But you wouldn't know because you couldn't let things play out any way but your own."  
  
The shaking in Angel's hands had transmitted itself to his whole body now, but he wasn't sure if it sprang from anger or fear. He had spent three months in a desolate monastery learning to harness his rage and channel it into something productive, but the true turning point had come when he'd seen his lover again, alive and whole.  
  
That was the day the fear began.  
  
Buffy, however, saw only the anger, a mirror of her own. How much could all of his sweet words the past week have meant, if this was simmering just beneath the surface the whole time?  
  
"I guess I'm just selfish that way; saving peoples' lives and all." She tossed her head. "I really need to work on that character flaw, huh?"  
  
Angel shook his head firmly, his dark eyes fastened to her face. The face he'd once thought he'd never see again, except in his dreams.  
  
"Was that what you were really trying to do, Buffy? Just save her life? Or were you trying to escape your own?"  
  
"It was a trade," she snapped. "New lamps for old. Come on, weren't you around when they wrote that story?"  
  
"It was supposed to be about saving the world for all those people who don't even know it might not exist tomorrow." He took a step closer to her, and tried not flinch when she instinctively backed up in equal measure. "You didn't know your death would do that, Buffy," he pressed on ruthlessly. "You gambled those peoples' lives that it would...but you didn't know."  
  
"They made her from my blood!" She abruptly stopped talking when Connor made a tiny, restless mew. Dropping her voice to a biting whisper, she continued, "Who else was I going to line up as a donor?"  
  
"Exactly," he snarled, his voice low and tight. "They made Dawn from your blood, not the other way around. Whatever makes her the Key was a part of Dawn before the monks ever heard of you." Inwardly cursing those same monks for the burden they placed on his lover, Angel tried to hammer his point home. "It's simple biology, Buffy; all the blood in the world can't make genes float backwards. If they could, your mother would have been a Slayer too."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"The blood; isn't the blood a nice touch?"  
  
The demon's translucent form wavered in his anxiety; Lilah's tone had grown increasingly cool as they went over the fine points of his master plan one by one.  
  
"The blood is a creative use of Angel's natural urges," she allowed. "If, of course, you don't factor in the risk of exposure that our operative would face. And the dangers inherent in rousing those natural urges." She rested her elbows on her desk and made a tent with her fingertips. "Not all of us can just shimmer away when the going gets rough and the vampire gets going."  
  
"There won't be time," Sahjhan said firmly. "Trust me; I know time like the back of my hand."  
  
Lilah's eyes traveled down his wavering arm to the barely visible hand extending from his sleeve.  
  
"I'm sure," she said dryly. "Now can we get back to this part about the prophecy? Blood is so passé."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"This wasn't about biology! It was about family." Buffy pounded one clenched fist into the other palm, trying to make it look like anger was drawing her muscles taut instead of a growing anguish. "My family!"  
  
Angel shook his head; he'd read the same books she had, over and over, searching for the words that convinced Buffy her death was the answer. He knew, too much and too late, what she had faced.  
  
"It was about looking for a way to close the portal between earth and a hell dimension."  
  
"I forgot; your specialty." She laughed, a sharp, unhappy sound that cut the air. "Wait, no, that was opening portals."  
  
He kept plunging ahead, pushing aside his own flare of pain at her bitter words. "You never looked for another way. Obviously if your death closed the portal, there was more than one way to do it. But you never looked."  
  
"There wasn't time!" Here she felt safe at last, free from any creeping doubts or guilt his earlier words had stirred to life. "Glory had Dawn; she was going to kill her that night. I couldn't let her die."  
  
Now they were at the heart of the matter. "You mean you couldn't lose her," he corrected her gently.  
  
Buffy blinked back the tears that threatened to blind her to her accuser. His voice sounded gentler now, and achingly sad; her own heart twisted at the unwilling pity she could glimpse in his brown eyes.  
  
"No," she agreed softly, thinking the worst of the storm was over.  
  
"But even though you couldn't bear to lose her, you never asked me for any help," he continued, to Buffy's pained surprise. "In all the months that you knew she was the Key, and in all the weeks you knew Glory was a hellgod, you never once called any of us in LA, not even for simple information."  
  
Angel hated himself right now; she would never know how much. The look in Buffy's eyes was enough to break the heart of a stranger, let alone the man who promised to guard her happiness with his own life. But he had to get this out now, before it destroyed all three of them.  
  
"Were things that bad between us? Did you actually believe I wouldn't drop everything to help you? Or did you think if Giles couldn't find the answer, nobody could?" He clenched his jaw as he forced himself to ask the next question, "Or deep down did you just not want to be helped...because you had your own way out?"  
  
Buffy's nails gouged deep into the soft flesh of her palm as she fought to keep her fist from swinging upward in answer to his charge. Instincts old as time itself urged her to fight as a Slayer was meant to, and the part of her that was woman did not disagree. But she would not give in to the call of blood and sinew; this was not a battle to be won by force. She had right on her side.  
  
"How dare you! You weren't even in this dimension when the last vernal apocalypse went down; you were too busy rescuing Cordelia to answer the phone." Buffy's voice dripped with scorn; the timing of last spring's events had been a bitter pill to swallow.  
  
Angel held his ground, even as his own guilt began clamoring for release. "What about when I came to see you after your mom's funeral? You could have told me in person and I would have stayed. You have to know I would have stayed." He threw his hands up in the air, letting them helplessly fall back to his sides a moment later. "I didn't even know about Dawn until after you died; Willow had to tell me!"  
  
"Explaining Dawn meant explaining Glory."  
  
"That's kind of my point."  
  
Buffy swiped her hand across her eyes, brushing away the traces of traitorous moisture. "I wanted you to stay that night for me," she ground out, pushing the words syllable by syllable past her clenched teeth. "Not because the Slayer needed you...or because the world needed you...but because I needed you, and you needed me. That's why I didn't tell you."  
  
Even in the dim light Angel could see the tears she was trying so hard to hide, and each one raked a bloody trail across his heart, but he couldn't let himself back down. Not now, when he'd finally given names to his fears.  
  
"That night." He nodded crisply, trying desperately to hold onto some semblance of composure. "That was the reason that night. What about all the other nights?"  
  
Buffy stared at him open-mouthed. It wasn't like she hadn't thought of calling him a thousand times last year. Or the year before that, or the year before that. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to, not at all. She just...couldn't.  
  
"I can't believe you think it was selfish of me to die for Dawn," she exclaimed, shifting the fight back to an area where she felt surer of her footing. "I was willing to give you my blood; why not my own sister?"  
  
"You abandoned everything you had left in the world because you were afraid of what you were going to lose." He took two quick steps forward and seized her shoulders between his hands. "You left behind Dawn, and your friends, and Giles...and me, dammit...because you were afraid of losing Dawn and your friends and Giles and me. You abandoned your duty..."  
  
"My duty!" she choked out. Part of her wanted to wrench herself from his grasp, but she was too stunned.  
  
"The one thing that always held you on course," he continued, throwing each word down as a separate charge. "Faith was in prison, so you effectively left the world without a slayer. You left Glory alive to try opening the gateway all over again, and you left Dawn behind to help her do it!"  
  
Buffy vehemently shook her head, sure of her innocence in this at least. "The barriers could only be broken down at that specific time; Giles said so. There was no danger from Glory."  
  
"And Giles said only the Key...not you but the Key...could close the gateway," he reminded her, bitter regret warring with his anger. "Why believe him about one thing and not the other? Or are you trying to tell me that you did believe him...and you jumped anyway?"  
  
She wasn't going to touch that one; he had no right to even suggest it. "Glory died!" she said instead. "She was Ben by then, and I left her dying."  
  
"But not dead," Angel corrected her. His words were coming out in harsh gasps, as though he was nearing the end of a long and difficult race. "Giles had to see to that. Just like Willow and Tara had to take care of Dawn, and the two of them, plus Xander...and Spike, for God's sake!...had to fight the demons that you were born to slay. But you got your way, didn't you? No matter what any of us lost, you didn't have to face losing one more thing."  
  
His words struck deep into her battered soul, each new blow falling before she could catch her breath from the last. She wanted to cover her ears and hum to block them out, or maybe just walk out and not come back. After all they had endured to bring them to this point in their lives, a little peace was not too much to ask for. Peace she thought they'd found, until tonight.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.  
  
"Because I don't want it to happen again!" He let go of Buffy's shoulders so abruptly she rocked back on her heels. "I heard what Willow said about the vortex she created, and suddenly I could see it all as clearly as if I'd been standing right next to you when it touched down. You were willing to die right alongside Holtz rather than lose Connor."  
  
"And is that so bad?" She could feel the anger building up within her again, fighting its way past the guilt she felt for causing him pain. "He's your son! Would you rather I let Holtz take him?"  
  
"I'd rather you killed for him than died for him," he answered starkly. "If you die for him, who's going to be there when the next maniac tries to hurt him? And the next one...and the one after that?"  
  
"So you wouldn't die for him?"  
  
"For him, yes. Without him...no." He saw the look of horror in her eyes, and felt an even greater measure twist his own guts. "You're the one who taught me how to live, Buffy, really live. And when you died, I wanted to die too. But you don't honor someone's life by ending your own. And you don't escape the pain of losing them by taking the nearest scaffold to heaven."  
  
"I didn't kill myself!" she protested furiously. "Stop making it sound like I did."  
  
Not then, her mind whispered; at least not then. Forget her self- destructive relationship with Spike, the one that could have eventually resulted in her death if she had not taken charge of her life again. That mistake had come after her death, after she had found, and lost, what was supposed to be the final reward for her slayerly sacrifices. It had nothing to do with her mind-set before the battle with Glory.  
  
Or did it? Did it all begin so much further back than she'd even realized?  
  
"You've lost so much in just the time that I've known you." Angel stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a wrenching half-whisper. "You've carried the weight of the world with as much grace as possible, for as long as you could."  
  
Buffy drew a shaky breath; the 'when's' of the past no longer mattered. Today, tomorrow: those were the issues. "And this qualifies me for a 'Dear John' how?"  
  
"I'm trying to tell you that I'm scared," he snapped. "No, make that terrified. I don't want you to ever to go to that end of the platform again." The next words were dragged from the depths of Angel's shivering soul. "And I don't know if either of us can stop it."  
  
Her eyes widened at the very real aura of fear emanating from her lover. To Buffy's shame, she realized it had been there all the time, lurking beneath the anger that had blindsided her. She closed the distance between them without thinking, and placed her hands on either side of his face.  
  
"Angel, it won't," she said firmly. "How many apocalypses have I faced? And how many times have I not gotten out alive?" She slipped one hand over his parting lips. "No, don't answer that. What I'm trying to say is that death is a risk with this high-wire act, but I'm not looking for it. I'm looking out for it...when I can."  
  
He wanted to believe her. And if his were the only heart to be broken, he would have, without question and without fail.  
  
But it wasn't.  
  
"Buffy, I..." Angel turned his head away, unable to look her in the eye as he retreated. "I'm not the only...there's not just me to consider anymore. I have to think of Connor."  
  
"Angel..."  
  
"The poor kid; he's already got the short end of the stake for a dad."  
  
"Connor's fine," she protested. "He's so fine it's almost kind of scary."  
  
Buffy tried to slip her hand around the back of his neck, but Angel pulled away from her consoling touch. Restlessly he prowled around the bedroom, searching for an escape from the inevitable self-analysis that must follow.  
  
"I'm not good with kids. At least I think I'm not. I haven't actually been around any for two and a half centuries; who remembers? And my job pretty much is my personal life, and neither one of them is exactly going to get a 'Safety First' rating. And in case you never noticed, I can get a little moody sometimes."  
  
"You don't say."  
  
He shook his head impatiently. "I owe it to him to make the best kind of life for him that I can. And I want you to be a part of it...if you want that too."  
  
Angel stopped his pacing and faced Buffy head on; she had the strange feeling he was daring her.  
  
"But you have to want it enough to face the bad times with us as well as the good ones."  
  
"I can't believe," she began, raising her voice to a level that stirred the sleeping Connor. She gave an impatient nod to Angel's frantic wave and lowered her voice to an indignant hiss. "I can't believe you, of all people, are lecturing me on the virtues of sticking around. Do you remember where you live these days?"  
  
"Yeah, I do. Two hours away. How long is the trip from the Pearly Gates these days?"  
  
She flinched; it had been a cheap, but effective, shot.  
  
"Angel, we've been over this," she said through gritted teeth. "I want the same life you do; you know that. I'm willing to give it all I've got to make that life happen."  
  
"No, we haven't been over this." He took a long, shuddering breath, giving himself a moment's respite from the storm. "I kept all of this sealed up inside, because I didn't want to spoil things between us. Because you came back, and suddenly it seemed childish to carp on why you left. But not saying anything leaves a hole between us, and we can't live like that."  
  
"So instead you'd rather throw it all away?" Her voice rose in disbelief. "This is California; you're not supposed to throw out the baby or the bath water."  
  
A small cry from the trunk reminded them both that there was indeed a baby in the picture, and one liable to wake up screaming if they weren't quieter. Neither Buffy nor Angel spoke for a minute, waiting to be sure Connor was once again asleep.  
  
"It's not like I haven't been where you were, Buffy," Angel said quietly, when he finally felt it safe to speak. "I'm there every day. Do you have any idea what it's like to know you're going to outlive everyone you care about...even your own child?"  
  
He ran his hand through his shock of dark hair, his mind shying away from the image of his world without his friends. Without Connor. Without Buffy. Someday he would have to face it all, but for today he had to focus on what he had.  
  
"When the First tried to get me to kill you, I was sure my death was the only way out. But you wouldn't let me go. You said strong was fighting. Are you going to tell me now it was all a lie?"  
  
"I was eighteen...not even. You're headed for the quarter-millennium mark. How does that make me Yoda?" Buffy protested. "And why do I have to answer for things I said a lifetime ago? A literal lifetime ago," she stressed.  
  
"You were right."  
  
The quiet words, offered with a weary shrug, abruptly laid waste to her anger. Angel sounded so defeated, so lost; as though her repudiation of the girl she had once been rejected him as well. It suddenly flashed through Buffy's mind that he must have perceived her death the same way, as a rejection of all that she, and he, was.  
  
"What do you want me to say, Angel?" she asked gently. "Did things pile up too high around me then, until I felt like I couldn't breathe, let alone scream for help? And did I feel some sort of...relief...when I jumped?" Buffy swallowed nervously. "Guilty on both counts. And would I do it again?" She paused, seeing the trepidation in his eyes. "That's the real deal-breaker, isn't it? Would Buffy take the big plunge again if she had to?"  
  
"That would be the one," he answered hoarsely, nodding his head.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"I don't like this waiting," Cordelia complained. "All we can hear is voices going up and down, but neither of them is coming down to say everything is okay. I think someone should go up there."  
  
She started to rise, but Wesley grabbed one arm and Lorne grabbed the other. Together they pulled her back down between them on the couch.  
  
"Cordelia, no," Wesley said sternly. "I know you've made Angel into your special project the past few months, but it's time to let go. Whatever happens between them now must be their doing. We've no right to interfere."  
  
"I do," Cordelia contradicted him. "I'm the one who sent him back here. I'm the one who made him realize that he wasn't actually over her."  
  
Fred covered her mouth to stifle a giggle as Lorne began humming the theme to 'Hello Dolly.'  
  
"So you see if this all blows up in Angel's face...and we go back to Daylight Savings Brood...it's my fault. I need to make sure they don't blow it."  
  
"Cordelia, don't."  
  
Willow had been so quiet since she came back into the living room that they had almost forgotten she was there. Her sudden participation in the conversation took them all by surprise.  
  
"But Willow..."  
  
"No," the witch said, softly but firmly. "I know you want what's best for Angel, and I'm really glad that you're behind him and Buffy. And I want to be up there fixing things just as badly as you do...probably more." She spoke the next words slowly, trying them on for size. "But it's not our right."  
  
"But..."  
  
"No."  
  
Cordelia frowned, recognizing her defeat but not loving the victor. "All right...but we are not, I repeat not, trading the convertible in on a minivan; I just want that understood here and now, before anything permanent happens."  
  
Willow grimaced. "I think I need to make a phone call."  
  
* * * * *  
  
She wanted to reassure him; she wanted to make that look of dread in his dark eyes vanish from both sight and memory. But even if she could lie to this man, she wouldn't.  
  
"Angel, you know what...who...I am." She took a few steps towards him, and reached out to take his hand. "I wish I could swear that I won't sacrifice myself for someone ever again...but I can't. It's part of the fine print."  
  
"I'm not asking you for that kind of promise, Buffy." He closed his eyes for a moment; why couldn't he make her understand? "I've known from the beginning that someday you would die fighting darkness. I hate it," his hand tightened around hers until it was almost painful, "but I know. What I want is for you not to surrender to it again. I need you; we all need you. Here. Alive."  
  
"But I am here and you're pushing me away!"  
  
"Do you think you're the only one who's afraid of being left behind? I know your dad left you, and Giles left you, and I left you, and in a way so did your mom." His voice was ragged as he forced the words from his mouth. "But what you did...the way you left all of us...it wasn't fair, Buffy."  
  
"I'm sorry, okay." Buffy ground her teeth together, fighting to hold down the sob building in her throat. "Angel, I can't tell you exactly what I was thinking that night...or any of last spring, actually. After my mom died it was all this horrible blur. Insurance forms to fill out and legal paperwork and school records and...it just never stopped. Not until I did."  
  
"Buffy."  
  
"I'm not even sure you could call what I was doing thinking," she continued in a near-whisper. "I hurt so bad that all I could dream of was being numb. And then when I was finally numb I was so...cold. So alone, even when I wasn't really."  
  
Her eyes drifted past Angel to the trunk on the floor, and the child resting within it. Connor had so much ahead of him, his whole actually; that was how the cliché ran, wasn't it? For her that had come down to twenty years, fifteen or so of them good ones, and then a quick death. That was her whole life.  
  
Or at least that's how it felt standing on the windy platform of Glory's tower to hell.  
  
"Dawn wasn't just my sister that night," Buffy said slowly, "she was me. The me who had to die at 16 because some stupid prophecy said I did. The me who lost my home and my friends and the only man I'm ever going love to a destiny I never asked for." She blinked back her tears as she turned to face him again. "It was a trade; I wasn't lying. Me for...me. Only one me had a chance of doing things right so she's the me that got to stay."  
  
Her voice was that of a lost little girl, but the hazel eyes that looked into Angel's own were older than he, for all his immortality, would ever be. It was that ancient grief that still frightened him, however, whispering of future sorrows for the unwary.  
  
"And what about Connor? Is he supposed to take over living for you someday, when you feel like you've used up your chances again?" He steeled himself to look deep into those old, old eyes, to get to the core of all that was truly his beloved. "It's not fair, Buffy, to you or to Dawn or to any of us. You are you, the only one. And no one else should get the opportunities, or the responsibilities, that belong to you."  
  
"It wasn't like that with Connor, I swear." She stepped closer to him, her body lightly brushing against his. "Maybe I said something to Willow that...but I didn't mean it. Not...well, not that way. I wasn't trying to sacrifice myself or anything; I just got, I don't know, caught up I guess."  
  
She saw the great grey abyss again in her mind's eye, just before it swooped down to claim Holtz. "The vortex...it was all swirly and the static was...and suddenly it was like I was seeing the portal...and Acathla's mouth opening and...and then it was too late."  
  
Angel could see the truth in her eyes, hear it in her voice, and something deep within him eased infinitesimally.  
  
"Angel, I'm sorry I hurt you," Buffy whispered. "Tonight...and then." She slipped her hand out of his and reached up to clutch his coat by the lapels, in case he got any more foolish ideas about bailing on her. "And I'm sorry you feel betrayed or something that I didn't ask you for help against Glory."  
  
"Not betrayed." He paused, trying to find the right words. "More like...unnecessary. Part of the past."  
  
"It had nothing to do with you, or with us," Buffy insisted. "It was about me. I had to keep my promise to Mom; she told me to take care of Dawn...and I did." Honesty compelled her to add, "And maybe it's just because I lucked out on both sides of the Great Beyond, but...I can't be sorry for it, either. Because I love Dawn and I am so glad she's still a part of my life."  
  
"I'm glad too," he said earnestly, reaching out to brush away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. "But what you did...why you did what you did...it still scares me, Buffy."  
  
She tilted her head, rubbing her cheek against his cool palm before she turned to press a kiss at the juncture of wrist and hand.  
  
"I know. It scares me too." The admission surprised even her; she had to become familiar with the idea as she explained it to Angel. "For so long after I came back, I wanted to not be here. I wanted...to be dead." Buffy raised her head from the comfort of her lover's gentle touch to look at him squarely. "And now you make me start to wonder if maybe that what I always wanted...if Spike was right and I was in love with death from the time I was called."  
  
Angel could feel his jaw automatically tighten at the mention of his childe's name, but he suppressed his jealous urges; Spike was of no real importance to them anymore. Instead he focused on Buffy, watching the lights and shadows play across her face and through her eyes.  
  
"Any conclusions?" he asked hoarsely.  
  
"Death...my own death...doesn't wig me the way it did when I was sixteen," she acknowledged with a small smile. "After all, I've died twice and lived to tell the tale. But I don't...I don't think life wigs me the way it did when I was 20 either."  
  
Buffy paused for a moment, and then spoke very slowly, trying to choose words that would form the closest thing to a promise she could make. "So I guess I'm going to try to enjoy where I'm at now...until it's time to move on to a new at."  
  
Angel could feel the tension begin to ease from her body as she made peace with the idea of survival; each breath leached a little of the old pain away, both hers and his own.  
  
"After all that I've said tonight, I don't suppose there's a chance you'd let me share that 'at' with you?"  
  
"I said I wanted to enjoy it, didn't I?" she drawled. A mischievous smile darted across her face, gone within the space of a heartbeat but leaving a trail of sparks chasing down Angel's spine.  
  
"Buffy, I didn't mean to put you on trial, but you...you scared the hell out of me tonight," he whispered. "And you're talking to a man who knows exactly what that feels like." He slipped his arms around her waist, holding her loosely against him.  
  
"I wasn't exactly expecting Holtz to show up on my doorstep, you know."  
  
"Something's always going to be showing up, baby." Angel brushed a kiss across the crown of her head. "And we're going to lose people, no matter how careful we are. But we can't lose ourselves."  
  
"That part's always going to bug me." She shook her head, narrowly avoiding the collision of her forehead with his chin. "I know I'm supposed to die for all this, but it seems like the people I love should get something out of that. Like death insurance or something."  
  
He nodded gravely, acknowledging the general unfairness of life, especially her life. "I wish it worked that way too."  
  
Buffy forced her muscles to relax, reaching for and finding the comfort that Angel's embrace always gave her. "I thought we were over the hard part, but...there's always going to be hard parts for us, aren't there?" she asked with a wistful smile.  
  
"Looks like."  
  
"I thought it was supposed to be get easier," she confessed. "After the first night we seemed to fit together so well and I thought...I thought we were finally doing it right...like something was wrong if it took this much effort. But I guess we're just not built for the easy life, huh?"  
  
"I'm sorry," he said softly.  
  
"I'm going to risk my neck, and you're going to hate it," she continued, sliding her hands up and down his arms. "And then you'll stay out too close to sunrise on a case and scare me half to death."  
  
"Repeatedly," Angel assured her.  
  
He reached out and with one lazy hand traced the line of her jaw. Buffy leaned into his caress, the turbulence within her heart slowly dissipating as she imagined the long future that stretched before them, pitfalls and all.  
  
"And Connor is going to spend his childhood explaining our bruises," she mused, "at least until they fade. And the broken furniture...and the broken windows..."  
  
"He'll learn."  
  
"And Cordelia is going to have to mind her own business when we fight." She waited to see his response.  
  
"She'll lea...I'll talk to her," he promised.  
  
"And I'll...I'll talk to you if it starts to get to me again," she said softly, awkwardly. "I always used to be afraid I'd hurt you if I did...mentioning the people I lost must make you miss your family even more and it's not like I even really..." She closed the last infinitesimal bit of space between them, wrapping her arms around his waist as she looked up into his dark eyes. "I just didn't want to hurt you."  
  
There was a kind of peace on her face that Angel had never seen before, even when she lay sleeping. In a way it saddened him, for the innocence he had so long cherished in Buffy seemed to be a thing of the past; her acceptance of herself the price of this new serenity. But the woman he saw before him, tear-stained and tired, was even more beautiful in her tempered strength than the glowing girl he remembered.  
  
"I'll make you a deal," he said, smiling softly down at her upturned face. "You don't protect me from you and I won't protect you from me. I've been told that's one of my more annoying habits."  
  
"That and the toothpaste tube thing." A wry grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.  
  
"You're supposed to squeeze..." he began.  
  
She pulled his head down for a kiss to silence his protest. "Since we're setting terms here, if one of your exes shows up, trying to seduce you into general badness, you promise you'll let me know this time?"  
  
Angel could hear the genuine apprehension beneath her light tone, and gave his answer in kind. "Agreed. And if there's an apocalypse on the schedule and I'm not here...you'll call. Sound fair?"  
  
"Sounds perfect," she murmured, pushing herself up on her toes to meet his lips in turn.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Willow stared at the telephone, the instrument of her torture, as it rested demurely on the smooth white countertop. She didn't want to do this; she wanted it all to go away, go back to the way things were. Back to when things were simple and she knew who she was and what she was and what she wanted.  
  
Kindergarten was looking better and better all the time.  
  
There was no turning back the clock, though. Or there was...but Willow had a sneaking suspicion that sort of magick was exactly the kind she needed to avoid. Somehow she needed to regain control of her own life...but only her life...and not with spells or potions or talismans. And she needed to do it for herself, by herself.  
  
Gritting her teeth, the witch forced her trembling hand to reach down and pick up the phone. Each number punched seemed to be stabbing directly into her own soul, but there was no other way.  
  
"Tara, it's Willow again." * * * * *  
  
"Nope; can't do it." Buffy suddenly shied back, tugging at Angel's arm to pull him away from danger. "Bad...way bad...idea."  
  
"Buffy, we don't have a choice." Angel eyed her sternly. "I don't want to go down there any more than you do, but we left all of our friends downstairs...some of them not even knowing each other..."  
  
"They're big people," she said desperately. "They can introduce themselves."  
  
"We have to go down some time," he pointed out. "Eventually you're going to need food and Connor will need diapers and..."  
  
She crossed her arms and stared at him. "We can sneak out a window; it's not like we haven't done that before."  
  
"Buffy," he sighed, "I left Sunnydale the first time because I didn't want you hiding in the shadows with me. Do you really think I like the idea any more now?"  
  
She pouted for a moment, hating it when he was right, and hating it even more that they both knew he was right. Hating too the fact that her pout seemed to have lost its power over him. Definitely not a perk of growing up, she reflected grimly.  
  
"All right," Buffy grudgingly allowed. "We'll go down and do introductions and make with the small talk and feed the masses; I'll even set up bridge tables. Will that be enough to satisfy you?"  
  
Angel shook his head firmly. "You forgot the part where we ask one or all of our seven potential babysitters to watch Connor for a night or two while we do a little more making up." He leaned down and smiled at her, more than a hint of wickedness in his dark eyes. "The kind of making up we really can't do with a baby in the same room and your sister in the next."  
  
"I thought...not that I'm complaining, but I thought we were going to take things slow this time."  
  
One large cool hand ran languorously down her back, creating a spine-length shiver in his lover that was swiftly transmitted back to him through the pressure of her slender body against his.  
  
"Oh I intend to take things very slowly," he teased.  
  
"Angel," Buffy protested half-heartedly. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but can I have Serious Guy back for just a minute? Forget the whole making love idea...well, don't forget," she flashed a quick smile, "but raging hormones aside, do you really want to leave Connor after all that went down tonight?"  
  
He stopped stroking her back instantly, but he didn't let her go. Not yet. Not ever, he vowed.  
  
"Holtz is dead, or close enough to it," Angel said gravely. "And Connor will be with a houseful of people who know demons...or are demons." Keep telling yourself that, his mind commanded his heart; just keep saying it until you believe it. "I'm not saying I won't worry, but I have to trust that they can take care of him. Otherwise I'll have to staple him to my hip for the rest of his life."  
  
Buffy quickly shook her head. "No way. My spot." Her hand quickly slid down his side to claim her territory.  
  
"As for making love..." an idea not far from his mind, considering the placement of her hand, "I'm not saying we should go any further than we feel right about. It was never just about the sex, and I don't want it to be that now."  
  
The lingering kiss that followed didn't exactly support his claim, but Buffy decided not to argue.  
  
"But I need to be alone with you," Angel said at last, when there was space and breath to allow speech. "I...need you, that's all. Just you, for just a little while."  
  
She grinned back at him, feeling a weight lift from her heart. Maybe all wasn't exactly well, at least not yet, but it could be. They could make it well.  
  
"Well why didn't you just say so?" she mumbled through the sudden pressure of her lips against his.  
  
* * * * *  
  
To Be Continued 


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note/Disclaimer:  This part contains lyrics (designated by // marks) I had not originally intended to use (which is why they weren't included in the original disclaimer), from a song called "Wild Colonial Boy."  The first written version (by John Renfro Davis) appeared in Australia in 1830, but the roots of the song go back considerably further in Irish history, and several versions have come into being over the centuries.   This is a version carried to the United States by Irish immigrants.

**Heal Me**

Part 9 

**By Gem**

Conversation in the living room swiftly died when the first steps were heard on the staircase.  Moving as one, all heads turned to face the archway, waiting expectantly for the feuding lovers to make their appearance.

Buffy could feel the measure of all those eyes as she walked into the silent room with Angel by her side.  Had they heard any of the fight from down here?  No, they couldn't have, she decided a moment later; Connor hadn't even truly woken up from the noise.  But did they somehow know anyway?  Had they guessed why Angel had been so angry, even though she had been clueless?  Had they felt the same way about her death, and just never told her?  She suddenly realized there were going to be a lot more painful conversations in her future, raking up things she had once thought best left unsaid.  

'Group therapy much?' she thought with a wince.

"Hey," she said, pausing awkwardly in the archway.  "When did you guys become Quakers?  Or...please tell me we haven't been overrun by mime demons."

"We were hoping we could hear you fight if we were quiet," Cordelia said bluntly.  "We wanted to know if we were going to need to step in and make you two act like grown-ups, or if you could finally figure it out for yourselves."

"Sounds to me like someone is volunteering for babysitting duty."  Buffy tried to keep the edge out of her voice as she added, "For an actual baby this time."

Cordelia looked sharply at Angel.  "Does that mean you're on your way to make up?  Or you don't want us to hear the real fight?"  

The vampire hesitated.  "Is there any chance we could leave here without answering that question?"

"Surely you jest," Wesley interjected dryly.  "We took our lives in our hands riding in that car with you tonight; do you really expect us to let you keep mum now that we're finally to the denouement?"

"It was worth a try," Angel sighed.

"Angel-cakes," Lorne began, pausing to stare politely at Buffy as she tried in vain to cover up her giggle.  "We've all been through a lot together the past few years.  Well, not exactly all of us all together, but close enough.  I think a lot of it was thrown at us by the good old boys in blue-face in an attempt to get you two crazy kids back on the same path.  So we have a vested interest in the outcome of this little soap-opera."

"Not to mention the whole 'who's going to live where and what are we going to do about the business' part of the deal," Cordelia added.  "Not that we're trying to push one way or the other, you understand, but knowing would be a good start."

Angel glanced down at Buffy, silently asking her for her opinion.  She pressed her hand over his on her waist, and answered for both of them. 

"We can't give you exact where's or when's," the Slayer hedged, "because we're still hammering out the details.  We're talking major construction zone here.  But it will happen...it is happening," she admitted, turning her head to hold Angel's eyes fast with her own.  

Willow smiled painfully.  "One day at a time, right?"

Angel tore his gaze away from his lover, looking sharply at the witch.  He saw not only the sad smile, but also a new kind of maturity in her brown eyes.

"It works that way for most things worth having," he agreed, offering a grave smile to reflect Willow's.  "If it was easy, what would be the point?"

"That it wouldn't hurt?" Cordelia suggested practically.  "I'm not knocking the school of hard knocks or anything, but given the choice, I'll move to Easy Street any day."

"And I want the house next door, Cordy," Gunn stated.  "Some day I'd like to try having things work out instead of beatin' them into shape.  Sounds..."

"Peaceful," Fred sighed, continuing her boyfriend's thought.  "No more worries, no more problems..."

"No more demons," Wesley added, joining in the fantasy.  A loud snort prompted him to add, "Present company excepted, of course."

"All I can say is: save me from the simple life," Lorne interjected firmly.  "How would you know when you were awake living in this perfect little world of yours?  Without the craziness that means life, all you have is..."

"Death," Buffy said flatly.  

Dawn shivered at the thought.  "Ugh.  When you put it that way, no thanks."

"That goes double for me," her sister said lightly.  Only Angel could feel the tight grip of her hand around his, signaling him the commitment behind her flippant words.

Cordelia's eyes narrowed; the happy couple seemed, well, happy.  And this was a good thing, if indeed it was legit.  If not, it was all-hands-on-deck time.  

"So, here's my question," she said, working hard at sounding casual and offhand.  "You guys supposedly spent the past week 'talking things through,' yet as soon as we get back here you have to hightail it upstairs to talk some more."

"Actually, that would be an observation, not a question," Buffy offered helpfully, trying to get Cordelia off the scent.

Her former rival, however, would not be so easily distracted.  "Why does this smell like the beginning of an angst-a-thon to me?"

"Cordelia, what Buffy and I talked about is between us," Angel said firmly.  "It's great that you all care, but we need to work things out for ourselves."

He met Cordelia's eyes, and was relieved by the reluctant understanding he found there.  He could tell she was curious, and he knew that she cared.  But the same maturity that was evident in Buffy and Willow had left its mark on Cordy as well.  Angel might be the butt of a little good-natured teasing, but she would respect the boundaries.

"Oh sure," his best friend said airily.  "I do all the work getting you two together again and I don't even get a little dirt out of the deal."

Given the occasional reminder, that is.

Buffy's lips twitched.  "No dirt," she agreed pleasantly.  "Also no clean.  Just a whole lot of none of your business." 

"And as part of that," Angel quickly added, "seriously, who wants to baby-sit tonight?"  He glanced at the curtained living room windows.  "Or for what's left of tonight until about the same time tomorrow night?"

"You're leaving?  Without Connor?  Overnight?"  Gunn stared at the Slayer in amazement.  "Damn, girl, what did you do to him up there?"  

"We need time," Angel said quietly.  

He hated the idea of leaving his son; he already missed him, before he had even walked out the door.  But Connor required time and attention, an abundance of them, actually.  And at the moment, so did his relationship with Buffy.  In order to give each what was needed, some delegation was required.

"Hey, you know Uncle Lorne; always a lullaby at the ready."  

"Great."  Angel breathed a sigh of relief; at least he knew Connor would be in good hands.

Lorne started to move towards the stairs.  "I'll just get the little nipper and we can...go to wherever we're supposed to go after Angel takes the car."  He stopped in his tracks and turned back to face Connor's father.  "Say, how is this going to work, Angel-face?"

"We can take my car," Buffy offered.  

"Car seat," Angel said succinctly.

"Right."  She nodded, unwillingly impressing Cordelia by her quick grasp of Angel's verbal shorthand.  "It's in my car.  We'll have to move it or take yours, so they can take Connor out if they need to."  She patted Angel reassuringly on the chest.  "To go for ice cream or something.  Not hospitals."

"Ice cream?"  Lorne said doubtfully.  "At his age?  Exactly how long were you kids planning on being gone?"

"And why do they get Connor?" Dawn burst out.  "We were going to take care of him this week."

Angel winced at Dawn's aggrieved tone.  He didn't want to hurt anyone, least of all Buffy's sister; it hadn't even occurred to him that she might perceive his friends as a threat to the status quo.  From the look on Buffy's face, however, this was not an unexpected development.

"Dawn," Buffy said slowly, "it's not easy for Angel to leave Connor with anybody; it doesn't matter who.  But Lorne usually looks after him, and it would probably be easier on Connor if he's with someone familiar."

"Except Lorne needs somewhere to stay," Angel reminded her.  "In fact, so does everybody else, unless they're going back to LA tonight..."

"Not on the likely," Cordelia sniffed.

"Then we need room we don't have."  Buffy grimaced at her suddenly tiny home.  "We could put Lorne in my room with Connor...and someone could have the couch...but other than that we're talking hardwood floors.  Emphasis on both hard and wood."

"What about the mansion?" Angel suggested, only to be hooted down by the Sunnydale residents, both past and present.  "It's not that bad," he said defensively.

"Sweetie, yes it is," Buffy said gently.

"Look, Fred and I will stay in Buffy's room with Connor tonight; Lorne and Dawn can take over when the little guy wakes up."  Cordelia glanced around the Summers' living room, mentally measuring and rearranging furniture.  "And after we pick up all the broken glass, the guys can rough it down here for one night.  That way we'll all be around to protect him," she finished, casting a knowing glance at Angel.

"That sounds great."  Angel breathed a sigh of relief; the first compromise had been successfully negotiated.  One down, six or seven million to go, he reminded himself.  In the end, everything in life came down to a compromise.  Adapt...or die.

* * * * *

"You're killing me.  You are literally killing me; you know that, don't you?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sahjhan, but we can't ignore the fact that there's a new player in the game."  Lilah tapped the open folder with one long, burgundy nail.  "A ringer, no less."

"Impossible."

"Not a word we use around here, I'm afraid."  There was a faint tinge of pity in her voice, or perhaps it was condescension; when it came to lawyers, Sahjhan could never be sure.  "At any rate, it seems that Angel has reunited with his ex.  You must have heard of her: the slayer?"  

"Slayer?" Sahjhan asked blankly.  There had been so many.

"Buffy Summers."  Lilah spoke slowly and carefully, over-enunciating each syllable of the name for emphasis.  "Rumor has it she's rather protective of Angel, at least when he's not soul-challenged.  I imagine that concern would extend at least somewhat to his child."

Sahjhan's already wrinkled face creased even more as he frowned.  "Angel is back with the Slayer?  His Slayer?  But that never happen...well, maybe the first...or was that the second?"  He sighed loudly.  "Juggling multiple time streams gets a little confusing sometimes.  But I don't see why her being in the picture makes that much difference.  Anyone can be manipulated."

"Slayers are unstable, to say the least."  The attorney's lips twisted into a grim smile as she remembered Faith, and all the chaos that surrounded her brief connection with Wolfram & Hart.    "Mixing one into this pot adds another layer of difficulty to an already unwieldy plan."

"My plan is foolproof!" 

"You don't know these fools...and that's the major problem.  You're already gambling on personalities and relationships you know very little about.  And from our experience in dealing with Angel Investigations, you're betting on the wrong team."

"You're telling me Wolfram and Hart is afraid to take on Angel?"  The demon's voice showed polite disbelief.  "The same firm that brought a notorious vampire back from the dead for the sole purpose of bringing Angelus back into the fold, and you're afraid of this?"  He waved a disparaging hand at the folder that contained the fruits of his labors.

It was Lilah's turn to sigh.  "Believe me, we at Wolfram & Hart would like nothing better than to grind Angel and his whole staff into tiny little dust motes, but we're not willing to risk our necks, if you'll pardon the expression, on a scheme that more than likely will not work.  After the last time we tried to...interfere...with the child, my boss made it clear we're to treat Angel's child like one of his own.  Better actually, since rumor has it Linwood...well, that's neither here nor there."

Sahjhan couldn't believe his amorphous ears; they really weren't going to help him.  He just couldn't catch a break.  First the gypsy curse designed to separate Angelus and Darla backfired, then repeated attempts to make the vampire despair and kill himself failed one by one.  Even Holtz in all his implacable hatred must have somehow botched the job, vanishing from Sahjhan's internal radar.  Wolfram & Hart had been his last hope, and now they too were deserting him in his hour of need.

It was like the world was out to get him or something.  Or maybe it was just those rotten PTB's, the old busybodies.

"Maurie was right," he murmured in amazement.  "I should have just dumped a soul in another vampire...someone close to Angelus, someone who knows the same people.  That would have sent all their lousy '_the' vampire with a soul prophecies to a hell dimension in a handbasket."  Sahjhan shook his head, sending tiny sparks of light floating outward in his wake.  "But no, I had to have principles.  I couldn't mess up the whole universe by rewriting prophecy after prophecy; one prophecy was my limit.  Besides," he appealed to Lilah, "who in the world would think having two of those freaks around would be better than one?"_

"I'm sure I don't know."  Her tone was polite, but dismissive.

"You won't help me?  That's your final decision?"

"I'm afraid so."  The attorney's hand slipped beneath the lip of her desk to press a small button on the right-hand side.  "But we appreciate you thinking of us for your demonic needs, and because we value your business so highly we really don't want to lose you to another firm."  

The wall behind Lilah quickly slid open and a hand holding a large glazed jar was extended.  Sahjhan didn't even have time to scream before a swirling cloud rose out of the Resikhian jar, twined around his incorporeal form and dragged him into the depths of his new and eternal home.  A moment later the anonymous hand whisked the urn back into the recess behind the wall, leaving Lilah alone in her office once more. 

"It was a pleasure doing business with you," she murmured, pushing Sahjhan's proposal out of the way in favor of her folder of take-out menus.  

* * * * *

The baby lay quietly in his makeshift crib, and every parenting book Angel had read suggested he do nothing to disturb the status quo.  Let sleeping babies lie; that was the maxim dictated by people who had infinitely more experience with childrearing than a two hundred plus year old vampire.  

"Up we go; that's a good boy," Angel murmured, gently lifting Connor from the trunk.  "Daddy just wants to say goodnight.  Nothing to cry about."

"That's snoring, Angel.  Your pride and joy snores."

Angel glanced quickly at the figure in the open doorway, feeling vaguely guilty at being caught breaking the rules he insisted everyone else adhere to.  

"What are you doing up here, Lorne?"

Lorne slowly walked into Buffy's bedroom, glancing around with avid curiosity as he made his way over to the trunk by the window.  His red-eyed gaze took in the cream and gold wallpaper, the white frilly curtains in the windows, the lace on the pillow shams, and one slightly impatient vampire in the middle of it all.

"Kind of hard to picture Mr. Maroon and Morose in a bright little room like this," the demon mused.  "Nice for the baby and all, but you're more of an Autumn.  This isn't exactly your usual palette.

"I see; you came up to offer decorating tips."  He shifted Connor up to his shoulder.  "Well, you might as well go back down and corner Buffy on that one.  It's her room."

"Not for long, I'm guessing."  Lorne smiled shrewdly.  "Or maybe hers, but not only hers."

"We told you; we're still..."

"Talking things out," Lorne finished with a nod.  "Heard that.  Didn't buy it...but I have a slight advantage over the masses when it comes to knowing the difference between your nose growing and your..."

"Lorne!"

The demon quickly hurried over to help Angel soothe Connor, when the baby was startled into consciousness by his father's unexpected bark.

""I was just teasing, Angel-cakes."  Lorne stepped around behind Angel to look into Connor's red face.  "Take it easy, little guy; big daddy's got a short fuse when it comes to Mommy."

"Don't..."  Angel stopped, unsure of what he was objecting to.  "Don't jinx anything, okay?"

Lorne moved around to face Angel again.  "Superstitious?"  He raised an eyebrow at the concept.

Angel couldn't help a quiet laugh.  "With what I've seen...with what I am...you really think I'm in a position to rule anything out?"

"True," Lorne sighed.  "No wonder you don't keep salt at the hotel; you'd throw your arm out every time someone broke in and tossed the place.  Which is to say every other day."

"I don't keep salt because I don't eat," Angel corrected him.  "Not much, anyway.  Besides, it's bad for you.  Not me personally...maybe not even you...but a generic 'you'.  Them."

Lorne held up his hand.  "Humans.  Yes, familiar with the concept."

Angel glanced down at Connor, moving the baby back to cradle him in his arms.  "I know what it's going to take from here on out is hard work, not luck or Fate or even sacred destiny.  But it can't hurt to be careful...just in case."

"You're going to make it, my friend."  All traces of Lorne's earlier humor were gone, leaving only a sympathetic smile behind on the demon's face.  "You've found your true path again, and you know enough to stick with it this time."

It was Angel's turn to smile.  "With a little help from my friends, huh?"

Lorne pressed his hand to his chest, roughly where his heart would have been if he were human.  "I was always more of a Wings fan myself; whatever do you mean?"  

"I know what you did, Lorne.  All the times you encouraged me to talk to Cordelia...all the stuff about how perfect we were for each other...I know it was a set-up."  Angel gently rocked Connor back to sleep as he spoke.  "You knew I loved Buffy all along, but you let me pretend I didn't until I was ready to face my feelings again."

"Everyone needs a safe place to hide now and then." Lorne shrugged off the vampire's thanks, though his cheeks took on a yellowish tinge as the blood rushed up to color his face.  "You did the hard part; you took the leap."

Angel shrugged, using the gesture to bring Connor's small head up for a gentle kiss.  "It wasn't actually hard, not once I saw her face again.  I think that's why I left here in the first place; I couldn't look her in the eye and still pretend we would ever be over."

"You mean all we had to do was give you cab fare?"  Lorne smacked his forehead with one green hand.  "Boy, do I feel the fool."

"We?"

"Fred and I.  And Groo, towards the end."

A quick frown chased across Angel's forehead.  "Groo too?  You didn't...that's not why he left, is it?"

"No, no," Lorne reassured him.  "Groo knew it wasn't going to work for he and Cordy; he told me he was leaving.  So I asked him if he'd grace us with a little parting gift."

"That was really nice of you all," Angel mumbled.  How many people had taken part in this conspiracy to save him from his own stupidity?  

"Obviously we should have just gotten the girl to LA, or you back here.  I would have too, if I'd known you were such a big romantic marshmallow."  He suddenly nodded his head and sighed.  "Of course, the Manilow.  It was right in front of me all the time."

Angel's eyes met Lorne's over Connor's head.  "All kidding aside, Lorne; you were a good friend when I needed one the most, and I thank you."  He gently laid Connor in the trunk.  "We all thank you," he mumbled, suddenly embarrassed by his outpouring of emotion.  

Lorne playfully punched the vampire's shoulder.  "Ya big lug."

* * * * *

Cordelia swept another small pile of ceramic fragments into her small dustpan.  It was the tenth, or perhaps the ten thousandth pile she had swept up since they began cleaning the living room, and suddenly she couldn't take it any more.

"That's it," she declared, standing up and tossing her dustpan onto the sofa.  "I am officially done."

"Hey!" Gunn exclaimed.  "I just got those cushions clean."

"And fluffed," Fred added loyally.  She ran a hand down Gunn's arm.  "He did a wonderful job on them."

"Well Gunn can fluff to his heart's content, assuming the rest of you aren't as weirded out by that idea as I am.  But there are other things around here that need doing more and I'm going to do them."

"Such as?" Welsey asked suspiciously.

"Connor," she said quickly.  "If they woke him up, he won't go back down unless he's sung to, and look who we sent to help Angel: Lorne."  She slapped her hand to her side.  "Could we have been any dumber?"

"Cordelia."  That was all Wesley said, but his tone said volumes.

She paused, debating the wisdom of offering a straight answer.  The old Cordelia wouldn't have bothered to compose a lie; let people object, as if she cared what they thought.  She did care what these people thought, though; they were her friends, her real friends, and their good opinion mattered to her.

Unfortunately, so did their trust.

"I want to check on Angel.  I know," she continued, holding up a hand to ward off comments, "I know.  He's a big boy, Buffy is his problem...I mean business...we need to respect their privacy, blah, blah, blah.  I'm not talking about that stuff."

Gunn glanced from Wesley to Fred, trying to see if he was the only one missing a few clues, but they looked just as confused as he.    

"What are you talking about then?"

Cordelia gnawed on her lower lip.  "I think we need to know what Buffy knows, because it may not be as much as she thinks she knows.  And if it isn't, who really wants to be the one to spills the magick beans?"

* * * * *

"And if you want to get him to go down for a good long nap, put a spoonful of this rice cereal in with his formula."  Buffy grinned as she pulled the small carton from the pantry shelf.  "Angel was amazed by my 'instincts' when I figured that one out, but I think he's just forgotten an empty stomach can be almost as growly as a demon."

"You're really getting into this whole 'mom' thing, aren't you?"  Willow took the carton from Buffy's hand, but she didn't look at it.  Instead, she shifted it from hand to hand as she studiously avoided looking at her best friend.  "I mean it's nice; it's just kind of...strange.  In a nice way," she hastily added, daring a quick glance at Buffy.

"Try looking at it from this side of the diaper pail and see how the weirdness abounds," Buffy said ruefully.  She sat down at the kitchen table, resting her chin on her hands.  "But I'm going to make it work.  We're going to make it work," she corrected herself.  "I'm finally starting to get my life figured out.  You know, what I want to be when I grow up; Angel and Connor are big parts of that.  I just...wasn't really expecting the Connor part, not if I got the Angel part."

A faint smile darted across Willow's face.  "I know what you mean.  When Tara and I...well, we never talked babies; we're a little young for that.  Not that I think you're too young," she said quickly, " but we...we were nowhere near ready, and even when we are...were...well, it would be a little more complicated than those health class filmstrips would have you believe."

Buffy saw the opportunity she'd been waiting for, though she was a little unsure of how her question would be received.  "Speaking of Tara, have you, umm, given any more thought to telling her about tonight?"

Willow nodded, dropping into the seat next to Buffy at the table.  "I not only thought, I almost did.  I called her and asked her if I could come over tonight and talk."

"Will, that's great!"  

She leaned over and gave her friend a quick, fierce hug, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief.  She and Angel had so much to look forward to, she actually felt a little guilty when she thought of all Willow had lost.  It didn't help to remember that most of it had been lost while Buffy was too wrapped up in her own misery to notice.  But all that was over now, she reminded herself, or at least on it's way to over.

"You'll see; when she knows exactly what went down, she'll understand that you had no choice."

"I'm not so sure about that," Willow answered unhappily, "but it's really not an issue tonight.  I called her back and cancelled."

"But why?"  Buffy pulled back and stared at her friend in dismay.

"When you guys were upstairs talking, we were doing some talking down here too.  Cordy really wanted to come up and 'help' you guys..."

"Angel swears she means well."  

"I think she does," Willow said unexpectedly.  "Or maybe I have to, because as much as she wanted to fix everything for you guys, I wanted to even more.  I think the only thing holding me back was Cordy; I didn't want to sound like her."  This time her smile went the distance.  "Kind of an old habit, you know?"

"But I don't get what that has to do with not talking to Tara."  Even if Buffy still hadn't been a little sensitive on the subject, there were more important things to discuss than Cordelia Chase.

"I wanted her to tell me who was right: Angel or her.  And I wanted her to tell me whether it was safe for me to use magick again or not.  I...wanted her to tell me if I was a normal person or I was going to end up some control freak who tries to tell everyone else how they should live their lives, like my mother."  Willow raised her hands helplessly then let them drift back down to her lap.  "I wanted her to tell me who I am...but that's not fair.  And if I don't know who I am, how can I ask her to love me?"

"She does love you, Will," Buffy insisted, taking one of Willow's hands in her own.

"I know, but why?  Who am I that she should love me?"

"Willow," Buffy started to protest.

"I don't mean that to sound like I'm way down on myself; it's just that I really don't know who I am anymore."  Willow frowned, searching for the right words to explain ideas still very new to her.  "All my life, until I met you, I was just a geek, and I was okay with that.  But when I started doing magick to help you, suddenly I was a witch.  Then I fell in love with Tara and that made me a lesbian.  And when I went overboard with the magick, I was an addict and then a recovering addict.  They're..." she sighed, "they're all labels, Buffy.  Nice neat little words to stamp on my forehead so everyone else knows who I am and what I believe.  Except I don't know any of that stuff yet.  Do you...do you know what I mean?"

"You're talking to the Slayer, remember?  Not only do I get a title, with a 'the' in front of it no less, I get centuries of tradition and about sixty stuffy English guys telling me who and what I am.  Trust me; I can relate."  She paused for an instant, considering her words and the truth behind them.  "I guess I really can relate.  I don't know if Angel and I would have been able to fix things between us a few years ago...or even a few months ago.  There was so much I needed to figure out on my own."

"Exactly.  It's not that I'm trying to hide what I did from Tara, but I'm not sure how much it really matters in the grand scheme of things."

"You really think there is a 'grand scheme of things' out there?  Like a great big road map?" Buffy pushed her chair back from the table and stood up.  "With, of course, a nasty wrinkle through the part that says 'Buffy Summers'."

"Hey, none of that talk, Miss I-Just-Got-Everything-I've-Ever-Wanted!" Willow cried, gently swatting at her best friend's arm.  "All you need now is a job and you'll find one soon.  A really, really good one this time."

Buffy smiled, though there was a measure of apprehension in her eyes.  "Actually I already have one; they called while you were in the shower.  I start Monday."

* * * * *

Gavin Park was working late, trying to untangle yet another mess left by his predecessor in Special Projects, Lindsey McDonald.  It seemed McDonald had possessed a certain genius for leaving client records in a tangle, obviously hoping to secure his position with the firm by being the only who could unravel them.  He had met his match, however, in Gavin.

Before any further legal wizardry could be performed though, Gavin needed food.  Lunch with Linwood had been productive, and definitely something to be savored when holding it over Lilah's head, but it had been a very long time ago.  

Thinking of Lilah reminded the hungry attorney of the folder of menus he had seen in her office just yesterday.  She couldn't possibly be working this late, he mused, glancing at his watch.  It seemed the perfect time to pop into her office and have a look at that folder...and perhaps a few more while he was in the neighborhood.

He was almost to her door when he spotted them: two demons he knew to be Lilah's lackeys.  They were coming out of the private office behind her private office, carrying something large and vase-like.  Gavin ducked his head down so they couldn't recognize him and quickly revised his plans for the evening.  If these two slackers were working late, it was only because Lilah was doing something she didn't want anyone to know about.  Something he was now in the unique position to discover and then confront her with, possibly in front of Linwood.

Could life get any sweeter than this?

* * * * *

_// There was a wild colonial boy, Jack Duggan was his name._

_He was born and bred in Ireland, in a place called Castlemaine._

_He was his father's only son, his mother's pride and joy_

_And dearly did his parents love that Wild Colonial Boy_

_At the early age of sixteen years he left his native home_

_And to Australia's sunny shore he was inclined to roam_

_He robbed the rich, he helped the poor, he shot James McAvoy_

_A terror to Australia was... //_

"It's no use," Angel broke off with a sigh.  "The third song is definitely not the charm."

"My tall, dark and...dark...friend, dare I suggest it might be the selection that's unsettling the little tyke?  Don't you know any songs that don't involve death or pain or painful death?"  Lorne shook his head.  "Where do you find these things?  'One-Hundred-and-One Songs to Slit Your Wrists By'?"  

"They're Irish," Angel said, a faint growl coloring his voice.  "What do you suggest?  A nice little song about hanging his crib from a rotting tree branch during a hurricane?"

"Mercy, no.  I'm all for the non-standard fare, but how about something with a touch more sparkle?  How does Marvin Gaye strike your fancy?"  

"Marvin Ga..."

"Mmm," Lorne interrupted, "maybe you're right.  Serious father issues going on there; definitely bad karma."  He tapped one ruby nail to his lower lip.  "I know; how about..."

"That's okay," Angel said hastily.  "I think we're past the point where even Elvis could save us."

"Elvis," Lorne snorted.

"Connor's not going back down," Angel continued, ignoring Lorne's protest, "not without another bottle."  He shifted the baby from his shoulder and began gently swinging him back and forth in the cradle of his arms.  "Lorne, could you..."

"Sure thing, Daddy-o."  Lorne stood up immediately and headed for the door.  "I'll go put in an order with the lady of the house and be back up in a jiffy."  He frowned and paused in the doorway.  "Say, what is a 'jiffy' anyway?  And who decided it was something really small?"

Angel raised an eyebrow at him.  "The king of kye-rumption is wondering where new words come from?  Could you just get the bottle first and find the dictionary later?"

Lorne sighed dramatically.  "Try to show an interest in someone's culture and this is the thanks you get."  He patted Cordelia on the shoulder as he swept past her in the doorway.  "Careful, Goldilocks; papa bear is growling down the house for lack of a bottle that's just right."

"Connor's not hungry."  Cordelia stepped quickly into the room, reaching out her arms for her honorary nephew.  "He needs someone to sing him to sleep."  She looked pointedly at Angel.  "Someone who sings well."

"He likes my voice," Angel protested, though he handed Connor over without hesitation.  

"Yeah, him and about 10 cats that live in the alley behind the hotel.  I'm sure _they must all be female."_

"First Lorne comes up to critique the bedroom wallpaper, and now you're giving unsolicited musical reviews.  What's next?  Wes offering safe driving tips?"

"Says the man who pioneered warp drive in Pontiacs?"  Cordelia's tone was mild, however, as it usually was when she was cuddling Connor.  "Actually I just wanted to see you alone for a minute, sort of to get our stories straight."

"What stories?"

"You've been with Buffy for a week, just talking."  She paused.  "Or so you say."

"Cordelia."

"And now you're going off to do some more.  I can't help it if I wonder exactly how much sharing is going on in these gabfests."

He turned his head away and restlessly shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  "We told you; we want to keep things private."

She moved one hand from under Connor's back to wave away his protest.  "That's not what I meant.  There's things that I know that Buffy might not know, or you might not know that I know but that doesn't mean I don't know..." she reached up and tapped her cheek with the flat of her palm.  "Sorry; Fred moment there."

Angel looked at her with some suspicion.  "What do you think you know that I don't think that you...it's contagious."  He blew an impatient sigh through his teeth.  "What are you talking about, Cordelia?"

"Can you say 'shansu'?"  

"Oh that."

"Oh that?" she mimicked him incredulously.  "As in the moment you've been waiting for since before you even knew you were going to get it?  Did it slip your mind or can't it swim upstream against the raging hormones?"

"You know it's funny but it doesn't seem to matter as much now.  Not that I'd turn it down," he quickly added, hoping to avoid inspiring the PTB's to new heights of mischief.  "But I really only wanted it for..."

"For Buffy," Cordelia finished for him.  "And my next line would be 'Duh!'   But that still brings us no closer to an actual answer to my question."

He drew in a deep, self-satisfied breath; even the tumult of this evening could not long disturb the harmony the past week had created in his soul.  "I don't want any secrets between us, so I am going to tell her it's a possibility.  A remote possibility.  I was planning to tell her tonight actually."  He paused.  "When we're alone."

She pretended not to notice his pointed glance at the door.  "Good, because you just know Wesley cannot keep a secret."

"Was that the big moral dilemma?  Keeping my maybe-shansu from Buffy?"

She wanted to get straight to it, and with anyone else she would have; it was the Cordelia Chase trademark.  Angel, however, required a bit more finesse, and a little thing called tact.

"Well, that and...she is up to speed on Darla and the whole 'oops-I-did-It-again' thing that created your little tax deduction, right?"

Angel nodded, his smile dimming slightly at the mention of his sire.  "Buffy knows all about Darla and Connor."

"Just tell me you didn't tell her about that stupid idea you had about you and me."   She tried to make it sound like a plea, but it came out as more of a command.  "You know, the thing I specifically asked you...no, I actually told you not to tell her.  "

Angel studied his shoes with an intensity he had formerly reserved for contemplation of his dark past.

"I had to," he mumbled.  "She kept asking why I was here and I couldn't lie to her."

"Of course you couldn't," she sighed.  "And of course I had to turn down one of the few guys out there who actually can't lie to a woman.  Not well, anyway."

"Isn't that supposed to be a good thing?"

The boyish grin and hopeful tone he turned on her should have melted the steeliest of hearts, but Cordelia could only groan at his masculine innocence.  

"Only if I get enough of a head start."

"Are you really all that concerned about her knowing, Cordy?  I'd be the one she'd be mad at and she's not.  Confused maybe...but not mad."

"Color me flattered."  She broke off and stared down at Connor's small dark head resting against her shoulder.  It was time to stop dancing around and get to the real issue, before Connor went into full wail mode and Buffy came running.  "No, I guess I can deal with that.  My question is, can Buffy deal with your little Black Friday Redux, or is she not going to get the chance to?"

"I don't...I don't know what you're talking about," Angel stammered, despite his crawling suspicion that he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"Yeah, well, I do know.  A couple of years ago you took away the life Buffy always wanted and gave it back edited for television.  Now are you going to tell her about it, or do I have to spend the rest of my life hoping I don't let anything slip that will give her grounds to strangle me or stake you?" 

* * * * *

"I can't believe you got a job...I mean another job.  And so fast; you're really starting Monday?"  Willow leaned forward, all dark thoughts of her own future forgotten in the face of Buffy's good news.  "What kind of job?  Is it good money?  Not that it matters, of course, except in the strictly financial sense, but...oh."  A not-too pleasant prospect crossed her mind.  "Where is it?  Here or...LA?"

"Here," Buffy said firmly.  "Right near Hellmouth Central, actually."  She rested her hands on the back of a kitchen chair, focusing on her clenched fingers rather than Willow's concerned face.  "I'm, umm, going to be working for the new battered women's shelter they just finished building a few blocks from the old high school."

"That's great.  Wonderful even."  Willow tried to sound enthusiastic; she wanted to sound enthusiastic.  Somehow, though, the overall effect was closer to puzzled.  "I mean it's important work, and you are awfully good at helping people so you should be good at...whatever you're going to be doing."

"I believe the word used was 'dogsbody'."  Buffy shuddered, raising her head to meet Willow's eyes.  "Not a word I personally would use lightly around a mystical convergence, especially with all the flying Scooby references.  But not everyone has my unique perspective on life."  She frowned.  "I guess that's why they call it 'unique,' huh?"

"So what exactly will you be doing?  Teaching them self-defense?"  

Suddenly the job sounded fairly logical to Willow, verging on the obvious.  At least it did until Buffy shook her head. 

"Umm, maybe a little on the side, but only really basic stuff.  The director likes the idea in theory; you know, as a confidence builder.  But the goal is to get these women away from the violence, not take the chance of amping it up."

"So you'll be..." Willow let her voice trail off, hoping for enlightenment.

"I'll be helping set things up and get families moved in from the old shelter at first, then I'll fill in wherever they need me.  Ordering supplies, answering phones, basic maintenance...though I did warn them I'm not much of a plumber."   Her quick grin faltered when Willow didn't answer with one of her own.  "I know it doesn't sound like much at first, but Willow, when they heard I had been taking some psychology courses, and that I wanted to go back to school, they offered to help."  

Buffy began to pace, too excited to stay still any longer.  "If I take sociology courses as well...and some business management classes probably wouldn't hurt...they'll hire me when I get my degree.  I mean they'll hire me as a counselor.  In the meantime, they'll help me pay for my classes.  Isn't that great?"

"Super.  It's just, well..."  Willow scrambled for an appropriate, yet tactful, description.  "It's unexpected, I guess.  Like the 'mom' stuff, you know?  I mean I never thought of you working with...well, you're so strong and you...you don't let anybody get away with messing with you, so it's hard to see what you'd have in common with...not that you can't imagine, but..."

Buffy stopped pacing and looked quietly at Willow.  "You mean because I don't have to worry about any guy...any human guy, at least...getting the best of me physically, I wouldn't understand the women there?"

She tried not to be hurt by Willow's surprise; she'd thought much the same things about herself until a few months ago.  Even then, her mind initially rejected the idea; she was the Slayer, not a 'victim.'  It had taken her a long time to realize she could be both.

"Well, no," Willow answered slowly, "but...kind of yes.  It's just so different from who you've always been I don't even know how you...how did you think of it?"

In one way the question made sense, but the fact that it did drove home to Buffy how little she and Willow had shared during those first dark months after her return from the afterlife.  It was her fault as much as Willow's, but that knowledge did little to remove the sting.

"Angel and I have been doing a lot of talking this week, and I've had some major thoughts all by myself the past few months."  Buffy almost laughed when she heard the words coming out of her mouth; as though 'major' began to cover the territory her mind had roamed.  "When I went to see Dawn's social worker today and I saw the job listing, it finally all sort of jelled. This is what I need to make something good of the whole Spike mess."

"The Spike..."

"I'm sorry, Buffy," Fred said softly as she pushed open the kitchen door.  "Lorne said that Angel said Connor needs a bottle to get back to sleep.  Cordelia said what he really needs is a decent lullaby...Connor, of course; Angel is a little old for lullabies."  She giggled nervously as she tucked a strand of long brown hair behind her ear.  "Actually he's very old for lullabies...but I guess you already knew that.  I mean of course you do, because if anyone knows about vampires...other than Angel, that is...it would be a vampire slayer, right?"

"So you came to get Connor a bottle?" Buffy prompted.

Fred shrugged apologetically.  "I can't sing."

"O...kay," Buffy murmured. 

"But I wanted to help." 

"I'll warm up a bottle and we'll have the little prince down for the count in no time," Buffy promised, giving up comprehension as a lost cause.  Angel had warned her about Fred's spiral thinking; she just hadn't believed him.  

"I'm sorry I interrupted," Fred said quickly.  "You two were talking; please go on.  Unless it's something I shouldn't..."

"No, it's fine," Buffy reassured her.  She removed a bottle from the refrigerator and put it in the pan of water she now kept on the stove at all times.  "I was just explaining to Willow about my new job at a shelter for battered women."

"Oh that's wonderful."  Fred pulled out a chair and sat down next to Willow, relishing the opportunity to get to know a new side of Angel through learning more about Buffy.  "The library where I used to work did a story hour at our local shelter once a week, for all the kids whose moms were afraid to leave them at the library for the regular story hour."  Her smile dimmed slightly.  "I didn't really understand that...not deep down, you know...until I'd been in Pylea for a while.  To be looking over your shoulder all the time, never sure how long you've got before some monster shows up and just drags you...it's, umm, really sort of hard to explain," she finished quietly.  

"You kind of have to be there," Buffy agreed, her unseeing gaze drifting to the baby bottle on the stove.

Willow's head swiveled as she abandoned one riddle for another.  "Buffy, I don't mean to make it seem like you've had an easy time or anything; I know that's not true.  Not even close."  She paused, searching yet again for the tactful path to enlightenment.  "But what you went through with Spike...that was totally different than what you'll see in that shelter."

"Yes and no."  Buffy shrugged uncomfortably and concentrated fiercely on the bottle and the pan, on anything but the look on her best friend's face. "If you mean that I was able to defend myself physically against him, well then yeah.  Spike could hit me, but I could hit back just as hard, and I did...when he used his fists."

"I didn't mean to..." Fred began quickly, sensing she might have stumbled into an area too personal to be shared with a relative stranger.  "Maybe I should leave, or..." 

"When he used words," Buffy continued slowly over Fred's protest, "when he told me I was some sort of freak of nature and I'd never fit in again, or when he told me I was incomplete and inhuman and the only one who could ever understand or love me ever again would be him...I had no way to fight back.  Not for a long time."

"I didn't...you never said what he said to you," Willow stammered.  "Buffy, if you'd only told us, we could have helped."

"I couldn't; I was too afraid it was true.  Actually I was sure it was true, and he knew that and he used it."  She drew a shaky breath; it went against the slayer grain to expose her vulnerability to anyone, and Willow, more than most, had always believed devoutly in Buffy's strength.   "I felt so...I don't know, dirty I guess, when I came back.  Everything had been so clean and simple and just...good...where I was.  And then I came back and everything around me was harsh and dirty and ugly, especially me."  

Buffy forced herself to raise her head and look at Willow, even though she dreaded confronting the combination of guilt and pity she knew she would find in her best friend's eyes.  

"I didn't feel like I was worth anyone loving me, and being with Spike made me sure of it.  Kind of a do-it-yourself prophecy, I guess.  The more I let him say and do to me, the more I felt like I deserved what he'd said and done the day before."

"But you got yourself out," Willow said desperately.  "You didn't let him keep doing it."  

She clung to that fact, holding it up against the memory of Buffy's face when she came down from Glory's tower after her resurrection.  Seeing Buffy truly alive again had made Willow so happy, and so very proud of herself for pulling it off; she couldn't let herself see the still dead look in her best friend's eyes that night, or in the many days...weeks...months...that followed.  It wasn't until just now, seeing the life and strength, and even the pain, that glowed in Buffy's eyes that Willow realized how terribly vulnerable Buffy's rebirth had left the slayer.

"Yeah, I did get out.  Eventually.  And so did every woman at that shelter."  Buffy turned around and leaned against the stove, her fingers clutching tightly to the handle on the oven door.   "Look, Willow, I'm not saying I know exactly how those women feel.  There wasn't any paper, or kids, or money tying me to Spike, and as hard as he tried to separate me from you and Xander and Dawn, you were all still here waiting for me when I saw the light.  I was lucky.  But that doesn't mean I don't understand what it is to want to believe someone is hurting you out of love."

"That's not love, Buffy."

Willow's voice was small, as small as she felt.  This was the kind of thing women were supposed to protect each other from, yet she had never even realized it was happening until it was over.  

"I know.  But if you feel like the lowest of the low, and someone agrees with you, but says he loves you anyway, it's hard to stop believing him.  You don't want to stop believing him, because if he's such a loser and even he can't love you, you're worth even less than you thought."

The sound of a childish wail pierced the kitchen ceiling, breaking the silence Buffy's last words had produced.

"Gotta go," the Slayer said with no small relief.  "I don't think the bottle's all that warm yet," she lifted it out of the pan and tested it against the palm of her hand, "nope; it's not.  Guess he'll just have to rough it this time."  

Fred held out her hand.  "Do you want me to take it up so you can finish your talk...the one that I kind of interrupted?"

"No, that's okay."  Buffy wiped the dripping bottle off with a kitchen towel and started for the door.  "After her first shot at an inquisition didn't work, I'm betting Angel needs some serious rescuing from the wrath of Cordelia."

* * * * *

To Be Continued 


	10. Chapter 10

**Heal Me**

Part 10 

**By Gem**

Fred was in a panic.  Buffy was all set to go upstairs and confront Cordelia, who was confronting Angel about needing to confront Buffy.  Any interference could lead to terrible confusion.

"Buffy, before you go, could you, umm, just tell me one thing?"  Fred scrambled for an appropriately time-consuming question.  "Who's Spike?"

* * * * *

"Cordelia, what exactly do you know...not to mention how do you know...about that...that day?"

Looking into those dark eyes, seeing the pain that she had put there, Cordelia had a momentary doubt about the course she had chosen.  She could have played dumb, let Angel tell Buffy what he thought was right and made herself live with never knowing what that entailed.  But doing that would have opened up a gulf between she and her best friend, and she wasn't sure if either of them could have survived that.  They were more than friends, they were family, and families were meant to stick together no matter how many times they put each other on the ropes.

"Doyle told me," she said finally.  "He wasn't any better about keeping secrets than Wesley, you know.  Of course after he told me he also told me not to tell you that he told me."

"And you haven't."  Angel's voice was hollow.  "All this time and you never said a word."

Cordelia sighed heavily; the honesty she'd always prized seemed a lot less fun now that she actually cared about the people who could be hurt by it.

"I probably would have," she admitted, "but after Doyle...I figured you had enough to deal with.  You didn't need any reminders of yet more stuff you couldn't fix."

"So why tonight?"

She shrugged, dislodging the crying child from her shoulder.  "You're in a better place now, almost a really good place.  You're like this close," she held up her thumb and finger, poised an inch apart from each other, "this close to the right place for you.  I don't want you to blow it."

He laughed sharply and ran his hand through his hair.  "Your faith in me is touching, Cor."

"You're not exactly the king of successful relationships, pal.  Not that I am either," she quickly added, before he had a chance to, "but at least I learn from my mistakes.  You love Buffy, right?  So trust her.  This time," she emphasized, "trust her."

"My decision had nothing to do with trusting her," he answered slowly, grinding his back teeth in an effort to suppress the words he really wanted to use.  "I wanted to protect her.  And after...I still wanted to protect her."

Cordelia slipped her hand away from Connor once more to ward off his explanation.  "Don't waste it on me, Angel; I don't need to understand what happened.  But unless you want to spend the rest of your life with this deep dark secret between you, you need to make her sure she does."

"That's going to take some doing." 

She patted Connor's back to soothe him, resisting the urge to repeat the gesture on his father.  Lorne was right; the sooner she stopped babying Angel the better.  To that end, she kept her tone brisk.

"You've had two-hundred and fifty years to learn the language; time to take it out of the closet and work it."

* * * * *

"Spike?" Buffy asked doubtfully.  "Why would you ask about...oh, probably because of what I just said about..." she winced at the memories, "yeah, that would do it."

"I don't mean to pry," Fred said.  

She dared a quick peek at her watch; still too soon for Cordelia to have finished telling Angel whatever she wanted to tell him.  Cordy talked fast, but he listened very slowly.  

"It's just that with all you've said...it might be embarrassing if I ran into him and didn't know who...," Fred shrugged, "Well, you can see what I mean."

"You won't run into him here," the Slayer promised with a grim smile.

"Buffy, she may be right."  Willow drummed her fingers anxiously on the table.  "What if he turns up on the doorstep again and she invites him in by accident, before anyone can stop her?"

Buffy glanced down at the bottle in her hand.  Willow had a point, but Connor was already upset, judging by his rising wails, and Spike was not an easy topic to fly through.

"Okay," she conceded with a sigh, "get ready for the Reader's Digest version of Sunnydale spooks.  Spike is a vampire.  Kind of a relative of Angel's, though he is nothing, I repeat nothing, like him.  They're like apples and...orangutans."

"Angel being the forbidden fruit," Willow chimed in helpfully.  "Only not so forbidden anymore."

"Not so I'd notice," Buffy muttered under her breath.  "Anyway, if you see a skinny guy," she waved her hand vaguely at the back of her head, "bleached blond hair, English accent, at the door, just don't let him in.  He doesn't have a soul like Angel, and he does have serious Big Bad Wolf aspirations."

"Hey," Willow protested, "no wolf comments.  Some of us happen to still like our ex's."

"Spike is not an ex," Buffy pointed out.  "Not...exactly."  She grimaced at the unintentional pun.  "Unless we're talking 'existing,' which unfortunately, he still does."

"Why don't you just kill him then?"  Fred asked, a puzzled frown furrowing her brow.  "It's not so hard; I've even staked a few vampires."  Her eyes lit up as an exciting idea occurred to her.  "I could give you a few tips, stuff that Angel showed me, if you like."

Buffy could feel the muscles in her face freeze on the way to a gracious smile.  She knew Fred meant well, even if both the question and the offer to help grated on sensitive areas in the Slayer's relationship with her beloved.  

Spike's existence, like Drusilla's, was Angel's penance; they lived to prove that Angelus must never live again.  Buffy had understood that from the moment Angel told her how Drusilla had been created, though she could never explain it to anyone else.  Knowing this, and loving Angel as she did, she had tried to keep both vampires under control, waiting for the day that he could finally free himself from the past they represented.  But it never came.  Instead, her own mistakes had knitted Spike into her hair shirt as well.

He represented the worst in both she and Angel, and as painful as it was to be reminded of that darkness, she knew the alternative was much more dangerous.  If she'd learned anything from Angel, it was that those who forget the past are doomed to wake up with it cold, soulless and naked in the bed beside them.

And as for Fred's offer to teach her a few tricks learned from Angel...well, it was best just to forget that had even been a part of the conversation.  Best for Fred, certainly.

"It's just...well, it's complicated," Buffy hedged.  She searched for a reason that would satisfy Fred without unduly enlightening her.  "See he doesn't have a soul, but he has this chip.  A computer chip.  It prevents him from harming...well, physically harming...directly physically harming...I give up," she sighed.  "It's no use; you can't boil Spike down like a soup bone, even though sometimes I'd like to."  Buffy glanced over at Willow.  "Umm, Will, would it be against your new Prime Directive to step in here for me?"

"Not if you want me to butt in," Willow said slowly.  "I think that's still okay."

"I do."  Buffy flashed her a grateful smile.  "Just don't...if Dawn comes in, could you not...I don't want her to get in on this.  She still has these romantic ideas about him, and anything she'd say would just confuse things more."

"Are you going to tell Dawn about your job?" Willow asked.  She watched the Slayer's face somberly as she continued.  "Well, of course you'll tell her where you're working, but are you going to tell her why?  The Spike factor and all?  I'm not trying to push," she added anxiously, "I just want to know."

"I have to tell her."  Buffy gritted her teeth at the thought of the forthcoming scene.  "She's not going to understand, especially not at first, but I have to keep trying till I get through to her.  Dawn thinks she can change Spike, or I can change him, or that love," she slapped her hand to her heart as her voice deepened melodramatically, "can change him." 

"Well, at her age you thought you could change Angel."  

"I thought maybe I could make him ease up on the power brooding," Buffy corrected her best friend, the one who'd seen her through the worst of those years.  "But that was Angel, anyway; I never thought I could reform Angelus.  It just wasn't an option.  Even Maggie Walsh, with all her ego, stopped at behavior modification."

"Do you really think Spike would hurt Dawn?"  Willow tried to erase the doubtful tone from her voice, but without much success.  "He's always seemed to like her."

"And he's spent the last year saying he loves me.  And that I'm Darth Slayer and no one but him ever _could love me."  Buffy shook her head.  "I know demons and I know how they work, and I still let myself get pulled in.  How is Dawn supposed to do any better?  It's up to me to protect her."_

"You can't blame her for being confused.  We've accepted his help for so long, and then there's the whole fact that the first vampire she ever knew up close was Angel.  I think it's hard on all of us to remember Spike doesn't have a soul."

"Not from where I'm sitting."  Buffy shuddered.  "I think he and Faith were study buddies in philosophy class, though don't tell Angel I said so.  Want, take, have; Spike doesn't run much deeper than that."  She sighed.  "And I suppose that should make me feel for poor Pinocchio who can't ever be a real boy, but I don't.  Not anymore.  It would be like Tokyo feeling sorry for Godzilla."  She glanced down at the bottle in her hand.  "Speaking of...Cordy.  Angel.  Yikes."

Buffy pushed open the kitchen door and darted through the hallway, leaving Fred fretfully watching her progress Angel-ward.

* * * * *

"You realize you're forcing me into this, don't you?"  Angel ran his hand fretfully through the dark spikes of his hair.  "Knowing that you know, but Buffy doesn't...it doesn't just make a secret I'm keeping from her, but a secret you and I have that she doesn't know about.  I can't...I can't divide myself like that."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to get between you guys; I really wasn't.  I was supposed to be suggesting.  I'm trying to work on the whole suggesting as opposed to guilting thing.  Lorne seems to think it matters."

"Consider it a work in progress," he groaned.  A moment later he regretted his jibe, when he saw the hurt look flash through his best friend's eyes.  "I know you were only trying to help," he said slowly.  "I appreciate that.  I just...I didn't want to get into this tonight.  I wasn't sure if I ever wanted to get into this.  I can't give her the memories back; no one can.  How can it help to tell her all this happened and it can't be changed, and it will never seem like more than a bedtime story, but hey," he shrugged, "it really happened?"

"It can make you feel better," she suggested.  "I don't think it was very fair of the PTB's to make you take it all by yourself."

"I made the choice by myself, and I have to live with it by myself.  Sounds fair to me."

"What sounds fair?" Buffy asked, breezing into the bedroom with a baby bottle in hand.

* * * * *

"Lilah, Lilah, Lilah; what have you done now?"

Lilah Morgan looked up from her well-thumbed copy of the Main Moon Café's daily offerings, suppressing a groan when she saw Gavin standing in her doorway, the Resikhian jar resting lightly in his two hands.

"Gavin," she said flatly.  "I thought for sure Linwood told me they were going to be exterminating the office last night; how did you survive?"

He favored her with a slow, patronizing smile.  "Good genes."

"So you decided to celebrate your good fortune by bringing me a gift?"  She gestured to the jar.  "Where did you find that?"

"A couple of your flunkies weren't very discreet making their way to the Non-Corporeal Disposal room.  Sadly," he sighed theatrically, "sadly for you, that is, they weren't very loyal either.  When it came to a choice between your favor and Linwood's..."

"I'm sure you were very persuasive," she interrupted him.  "Mind telling me why you bothered?"

"This jar."  He held it up, drawing her slowly around from behind her desk to get closer to the prize.  "Whatever is in this jar is something you want destroyed, without anyone knowing you even had it in the first place.  That piqued my curiosity, and I just hate to be curious.  Don't you?"  His hand hovered over the lid of the jar.

Lilah thought fast, weighing her options in the blink of an eye.  Gavin had appeared to be just a nuisance until now, but if he got Sahjhan on his side, the stakes went up considerably.  Then there was the additional problem of Linwood and the senior partners, who might be more than a little upset when they discovered Lilah had refused Sahjhan on their behalf.  Never mind that the time traveler was a dangerous lunatic who would set both Angel and his pet Slayer at their throats; the partners would only see it as Lilah overstepping her bounds to curry Angel's favor.

_Men, she thought dismissively__.  With them everything always comes back to sex._

"Curious about that?"  She forced her stiff-set shoulders into a casual shrug.  "It's just the spirit of a Polynesian warrior sacrificed to a volcano god."  She paused for emphasis.  "After he was ritualistically castrated.  But hey, I bet he'd love to come out and play after all these centuries, so by all means," she waved at the jar, "open it."

Gavin glanced down at the jar.  Lilah lied as a matter of course; he expected nothing less of a fellow attorney.  And working for Wolfram & Hart didn't encourage even casual honesty; he wouldn't believe Lilah if she said she had cereal for breakfast.  Logically, if she told him there was a dangerous spirit in the jar, he should assume it was a bluff.  Yet how like her to use his own cautious nature against him and tell the truth when he least expected it.

"Gavin, if you're though grandstanding..." she glanced at her desk, and the menu lying on top of it, "I'm really hungry."  A wolfish grin darted across her face.  "Of course, I bet our friend in the jar is too."

"Linwood should know about this," he said finally.  

"He does know about this," she claimed, carefully keeping her voice steady and her tone detached.  "The only thing he doesn't know is that this matter wasn't disposed of yesterday.  That's why I was working late, to catch up.  But if you want to delay things one more day, and let Linwood know you're the cause, be my guest.  I'd be happy to share the chewing out."  She reached out slowly, keeping a wary eye on Gavin, and ran her fingertip lightly down the curving slope of the jar.  "Linwood has such big teeth, after all."

* * * * *

"And you say I'm not a good actress.  I know my cue to exit when I hear it."

With that, Cordelia kissed the top of Connor's head and reluctantly handed him over to Buffy.  "Be good," she cautioned the baby softly, then turned to repeat her warning to Connor's father.  "Be good."

"Okay, that was weird," Buffy murmured after Cordelia had left the room.  "Even for Cordy."

"She's, uh, gotten a little, umm, I guess you'd call it maternal, since Connor was born."  Angel shrugged and turned up his palms at the mystery of Cordelia.  "She doesn't always know when to turn it off."

Buffy eyed him levelly as she nudged the nipple of the bottle into Connor's mouth between wails.  "Now would be a good time."

"I'll talk to her," he promised, smiling as much at the sight of his son in his lover's arms, as at the unmistakably possessive tone in her voice.

"Talk to me first.  Something majorly bizarre was going on when I walked in; I could feel it."  

She looked around for the rocking chair Angel bought two days before and sighed when she spotted the splintered remains in the corner.  Yet another reminder of Justine and Holtz, like they needed more.  

"So what's up?" she asked, perching on the edge of the bed.

It was the perfect opening, but he couldn't take it.  Not here, not now, with so many people wandering in and out of the room and their lives.  

"At the moment, Connor is up," he said instead.  "Could we get him settled and make our exit and then talk when we get where we're going?  I'd kind of like to be there before dawn.  Vampires, sunrise...it's not quite the romantic combo people think."

Part of her wanted to press the issue, give up the overnight trip if necessary, anything to shake the frightened look from his eyes.  Buffy could sense that there was something Angel wanted, no, _needed to tell her, but he didn't know how she was going to react.  It would make things so much easier if he would just say it and she could react and they could move on, but the wounds of the past were still only thinly healed over.  _

"When we get there," she agreed with a sigh.  

* * * * *

"We shouldn't have let them go," Cordelia fretted, turning away from the front window as the taillights vanished around the corner.  "Not until we knew that everything was...safe."

Lorne patted her back soothingly.  "Holtz is dead, sugarplum, and that little vixen Justine is off to make some new friends at the county lockup.  Anything beyond that isn't up to us."

"Well we can't leave it up to them," she snorted.  "I mean I love Angel; I really do..."

Fred glanced quickly at Lorne, panic darting through her eyes.

"But the man is hopeless when it comes to women," Cordelia continued in exasperation.  "And Buffy?  Fred knows more about men than she does, and before Gunn the closest Fred had been to a man in five years was Angel, for pete's sake. When it comes to romance, Angel and Buffy don't even have the clue that tells them where to get a clue."

"So Cordy," Willow said, in what she hoped was a casual tone of voice, "who are you seeing these days?"

Cordelia turned to the window again and pulled back the curtain, not even hearing Willow's comment through the clamor of her own thoughts.  "She going to hurt him again; I just know it," she muttered.  "He's going to tell her and she's going to be furious and say about seventeen things she doesn't really mean but wants to say just to get back at him and..."

"Buffy's not like that," Willow and Dawn protested simultaneously.

Cordelia continued to address her comments to the window.  "Once he decided to tell her, I never should have let them out of the house until it was done.  At least we'd be here for him when Old Faithful blows her gasket."

"You're mixing metaphors, pumpkin face."

Her hands flew to her face, gingerly feeling for cheekbones.  "Pumpkin face?"  She leaned towards Lorne and dropped her voice to a near whisper.  "Do I look bloated to you?"

Lorne winced.  "Okay, that was a bad example."  He tugged at Cordelia's arm, leading her away from the window and over to the sofa to sit next to Fred.  "I just think you should try to relax and let nature take its course."

"Buffy is not the one who does the damage in that relationship," Willow protested.  Her voice grew higher as the air rushed from her lungs in indignant puffs.  "I've stuck up for Angel a lot over the years, because, well, he's saved my life a lot over those same years.  But he has hurt Buffy so many times..."

"Yeah!" Dawn clenched the top of Willow's chair, her fingers working deep into the folds of the soft fabric.  "You don't know what she's like when they fight."

"Sure I do.  Clashing swords, flying kicks and a whole lot of hell-going, not that I blame her for that one."  Cordelia's nostalgic smile abruptly hardened.  "But she doesn't need all the accessories to turn him into a puddle of former Angel; that tongue of hers is enough to do the trick."  

"Careful with the visuals, sunshine."  Lorne nodded his head at Dawn.  "Some of us are still in that awkward age between PG-13 and R."

"When Angel came home in the fall," Fred jumped in, "after he'd seen her, he was so...I can't even describe it."

"The man tried to hide it," Gunn added, "He tried real hard.  But he..."

"But Buffy..."

A piercing whistle drowned out Dawn's comment and brought an uneasy silence to the room, at least momentarily.

"Who died and made you Kenny G?" Cordelia snapped, lowering her hands from her ears.

"Whoa, that's harsh," Gunn said.  

Cordelia glared at the wide-eyed demon.  "If you wanted to help defend Angel, you could have just jumped in, Lorne." 

"I like Kenny G," Fred said, abandoning the sofa to stand beside her boyfriend in the archway.  "You don't like Kenny G, Charles?"

"You don't have to do a solo act all the time," Cordelia continued over Fred's worried aside.  "You're part of the team now."

"Maybe he wanted to stick up for Buffy," Willow suggested, eyeing the demon hopefully.  "I know he's Angel's friend and all but..."

Lorne raised two fingers to his lips, preparing for another blast.

"If you don't want to change your name from Lorne to Lefty..." Cordelia warned.

"You do say the sweetest things, my little turtle-eating dove."  Lorne lowered his hand and patted Cordelia's knee affectionately.  "Do you seriously think any deep and dark that Angel has to tell his favorite slayer will top coming home to hear you all tearing away at them the way you have been?"  He glanced from one guilty face to another, trying to catch eyes before they slid away in shame.  "They're not the only ones with hurt feeling to mend, children; I'm sensing some serious history in the 'us versus them' that's going on."

"Willow started it."

"Cordelia," Wesley scolded as he came down the stairs, "Lorne is right.  If you can't come together for Angel and Buffy's sakes, you need to think of Connor.  He's too young to understand now, but he will grow and he will feel the pull between worlds, unless you all learn to, well, put up with each other."

"Says the guy who gets hurt every time Giles forgets to fill him in on psycho slayers waking up from comas," Cordelia scoffed.  "You first, Watcher Man.  Put up...or shut up."

"And I did not start it," Willow protested belatedly.

Lorne shook his head gently and placed one hand over his eyes.  "And for this I gave up a headliner spot in Vegas."

* * * * *

"Gavin, you know I really could have done this myself," Lilah complained.  She glanced over at the man striding purposefully by her side, Resikhian jar firmly clutched in his hands.  "You should have gone home, gotten yourself out of this entirely.  Linwood won't like it if he sees you on the surveillance tapes with me."

Gavin looked up at the string of video cameras lining the stark white hallways and smirked for posterity.

"I think he'll be pleased to see me taking charge of the situation," he corrected her confidently.  "Since you weren't able to tie up the loose ends on your own, someone had to step in and do it."

Lilah offered a sour smile in return.  "And you're just the man for the job, aren't you?"  She nodded at the jar in his hands.  "Sure you don't want me to carry that?  It must be getting heavy.  He wasn't exactly a small warrior in his day."

He clutched the jar tightly to his chest.  "That's quite all right, Lilah; I've got it.  Not that I don't trust you..."  he let his voice die away suggestively.

"Perish the thought."  

Gavin stopped abruptly.  "We're here."

She looked at the plain beige door, discreetly labeled "Non-Corporeal Disposal," but she made no move to touch it.

"Aren't you going to open it?" he asked impatiently.

Lilah shrugged, the picture of disinterest.  "Ladies first, Gavin.  Show Linwood what good party manners you have."

Gavin grumbled, but obligingly shifted the jar in his arms to free a hand to open the door.  Giving in to a momentary urge, he pushed past Lilah and preceded her into the room.

"Sorry," he apologized, his insincere smile in harmony with the sarcasm in his voice.  "I wanted to make sure the jar got in out of the wind as soon as possible.  We wouldn't want any of this guy to just blow away, now would we?"

"Mmm," she murmured noncommittally.  "It is hard to believe how much hot air was gusting around out there."

Gavin chose to rise above her snub, in favor of wrapping up their unfortunately joint errand.  He glanced around the spare white room, empty save for a desk, a chair and a large oaken door on the opposite wall.

"Are we the only ones who still work at this hour?" he griped.

Before the question was even fully formed, a shimmering cloud appeared behind the desk and resolved itself into a large, greyish horned demon.

"Sorry, just taking a dinner break in the Lux dimension."  The demon discreetly rubbed two fingers on either side of his uppermost mouth to dislodge any embarrassing stray crumbs, while his other 72 fingers smoothed the hair on his head, tightened his belt (in deference to his lady visitor), adjusted his tie and scratched an itchy spot on one elbow.  "Great food, but the service is hell."

Lilah smiled as she stepped forward.  "Yes, hell; that's why we're here..." she glanced at his security badge, "Percy.  We have a friend," she nodded at the jar, "that we need to dispose of.  Permanently."  She paused for a moment, considering what she had already learned of Wolfram & Hart's long-range plans.  "Actually we need something more permanent than permanently."

"Lilah," Gavin snapped, "I'm handling this."  He turned back to the puzzled demon.  "We need...what she said."

"Not a problem," Percy cheerfully agreed.  _Why fight the madness?  "I just need someone to sign off on the disposal, and pick a destination."_

"Any suggestions?" asked Lilah.

The demon gave it some serious thought, as Gavin impatiently tapped out a tune on the side of the Resikhian jar.  Finally Percy came to a decision.  

"Quortoth.  No contest."

Gavin frowned, not liking to admit his unfamiliarity with any of the firm's connections.  "Quortoth?"

"It's just hell this time of year," Percy confided, "or pretty much any time of year.  Being the ultimate in hell dimensions and all.  Not even American Express can get you home from there.  If you want your guy," he glanced at the jar, "or lady, to disappear forever, that would be my pick."

"And he can't be retrieved either?" Lilah asked quickly.  This had to be a one-way trip, or it was all for nothing.  

"I said..." Gavin began.

"Nope."  The demon shook his head, creating a small breeze in the windowless room with the movement of his horns.  "I've never heard of anyone getting out of Quortoth, with or without a life preserver."

"Then Quortoth it is."  Lilah smiled sweetly at Gavin, saccharin dripping from her voice.  "If that's all right with you, of course."

"Fine," Gavin grumbled.  He shoved the jar at the helpful demon.  "What do I have to sign?"

"What do _you have to sign?" Lilah asked, her voice rising on the pronoun.  "This was my case and if anyone is going to sign it's going to be..."_

"Me."  Gavin chuckled, enjoying the sense of power he had over her.  "I want Linwood to know you have to be cleaned up after, and I really want him to know who had to do it."

Percy gently set the jar down on the desk and picked up a clipboard.  "If someone could just sign...doesn't matter to who...at least not to me."

Gavin snatched the clipboard and scrawled a hasty signature on the first blank line he saw.  "There, done.  Signed.  Now just dispose of him so I can get the hell out of here."

"Hell it is," Percy agreed.

The demon picked up the Resikhian jar and bowed his head over it, suddenly all business.  Strange, guttural words emanated from each of his mouths now, the collective voices gradually rising as the power of the spell moved through his body.  Lilah and Gavin watched him, sharing a rare moment of silence out of a mutual fear of screwing things up, until Percy crossed the room and flung open the carved oak door. 

"Be gone, dark spirit!" the demon commanded, throwing the jar into the swirl of fire that appeared on the other side of the open door.  "Thou art forever banished from this realm."  He slammed the door closed and turned around to Lilah and Gavin with smiles on all four mouths.

"I didn't really need that last part," he explained, "but I like a big finish."

"Are we done?" Gavin sighed.

"Sure.  Have a good night.  Thanks for stopping by."  Percy waved blindly at the door, his mind already on his paperwork.  

"Lilah, I'll see you tomorrow."  Gavin nodded stiffly at his coworker.  "Bright and early, I trust.  We have a lot of explaining to do to Linwood."  A quick grin flashed across his face.  "Or should I say, you have a lot of explaining to do."

"Always a pleasure, Gavin."

Lilah waited impatiently for Gavin to sweep past her and out the door.  As soon as the door whooshed closed she turned back to the horned demon now sitting behind the desk.  "Percy, I need a favor.  Without questions."

"Sure.  Why?"

She rested her hands on her hips and scowled down at him.  "Ha ha.  Listen, I need you to erase me from the surveillance tapes in here; can you do that?"

"No problem.  Why?"

"You really don't understand what 'without' means, do you?"

Percy shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  "You know I adore you," he began.

"I'm all aquiver.  And this has what to do with my favor?" 

"Hey, I know you're the one who got me this job, even if you're too modest to admit it to anyone else."  

"Modest?  Now there's one I've never been accused of."  Lilah tapped her chin thoughtfully, considering the claim.  "No," she decided.  "It would never hold up in court."

"I owe you," he stressed.  "I know it and you know it; that's why you came to me looking for this favor.  But favors around here are not exactly like swapping turns to do the dishes.  If I do this thing for you, it will mean one of two things to my future.  Either you'll use it to make your way further up the ranks, and eventually find my knowledge of this favor a liability," he paused for effect, "or you're going to go down because of it and use me to fall on."  A small shrug as all six hands offered his fate up to her pleasure.  "I'd just like to know what I'm dying for."

She checked her watch, gauging the time it would take Gavin to arrive back at her office and begin to search it for future ammunition.  Maybe there were a few minutes to spare for a quick explanation, with the added bonus of possibly catching Gavin in the act.  

"Bottom line?  You're dying to keep one small slayer from landing on us like a very large lioness.  I seem to be the only one who realizes the danger, but I'm not willing to die because the others are too male to see the stake for the trees."  She suddenly realized to whom, or rather at what, she was speaking.  "No offense intended."

"On behalf of my sex, if not my species, offense accepted."

"Everyone around here thinks that Angel is the be all and end all in terms of apocalypses," she complained, warming to her topic.  "Don't get me wrong; the guy bugs the hell out of me too.  I'd love to wake up some morning and sneeze him out my nose.  But Angel alone doesn't scare me; he doesn't do apocalypses."

"Too showy?" the demon guessed.

"I've done my homework; I know it's her.  She's the queen of kingdom come, and he'll be with her every step of the way.  The only thing going for us is a slayer's rather limited life expectancy."  Lilah tilted her head to the side, envisioning the future for at least the thousandth time that night.  "If we can stay off radar for just a few more years, she'll be out of the picture and what's left of Bunnicula will probably welcome the end of the world."  

"Say no more.  I'm begging you, say no more."  Percy began to spin, waving his hands at the cameras nestled in the four corners of the room and chanting under his breath.  After a several passes, at an ever-increasing speed, the demon slowed to an unsteady stop.  "Whew!  Next time, don't ask me to do that on a full stomach.  Me hurling is not a sight you want to see."

"The Pepto's on me.  Is it done?"

"Ginger pills, and yes.  Do I need to sweep the hall monitors on my way out tonight?"

"Of course."  She raised an eyebrow at Percy's question.  "Your own tapes make it clear this was Gavin's show all the way down the line.  It would look pretty bizarre if I was seen holding his hand until curtain time, now wouldn't it?"

"If I stopped to think about what looked bizarre around here, I'd never get anything done."

"Brother, you said a mouthful."  Lilah took another look at the demon.  "Several mouthfuls."

"Mouthsful," he corrected her, smiles blossoming on each mouth in succession.  "So what are you going to tell your little friend tomorrow when he tries to march you to the principal's office?  Or don't I want to know?"

"Gavin?" Lilah scoffed.  "He's an amateur; it won't take much to get him back in line.  I'll just show him the 'Gavin's Greatest Hits' tape you've created, and remind him that he only has my word for what he disposed of.  If he tries to sell me out to Linwood, he'll be slitting his own throat.  Possibly literally."

Percy sighed, envisioning not only the serpentine dance Lilah would have to do to survive this firm, but also the work ahead of him before he could go home and get some sleep.  "You know, hon, after all the thought you've put into this plan, I sure hope that little slayer of yours does her part and dies before it all blows up in your face."

"From your mouth to a vampire's ear," she agreed.  

* * * * *

The silence in the car was deafening, making each minute of the hour-long drive lengthen to unimaginable proportions.  After a week of compulsive conversation, and heartfelt confidences, the secret hovering between them seemed to have a life of its own, an third unwelcome passenger on this lovers' retreat.

At last they rounded the corner on the sandy road and pulled in between two trees at the end of a short driveway.

"I figured this was where we were coming," Buffy said, breaking the long silence at last.

"It's only an hour away from Sunnydale," he explained.  "And after the last time...I thought we needed a chance to make things right.  This is such a beautiful place," he said, glancing through the car window at the small cottage nestled between scrub pines, and at the cliff it overlooked.  "I didn't want you to only have bad memories of it."

"They weren't all bad," she said softly.  A teasing smile flitted across her face, barely visible in the dim moonlight.  "Give yourself some credit."

"No they weren't," he agreed, trying to ignore the little jolt of masculine pride her words had created.  "But how it ended...we need to work on our endings."

"We need to stop having them," she countered.  "Now are you going to tell me what this big secret is?  I know you think it's going to lead to another one of those bad endings...and I can promise you it won't...but the suspense is killing me."

He opened his car door and slipped out, walking quickly around the front of the car to open Buffy's door for her.  

"Why don't we go inside first?"

"Angel."

"Buffy, please.  Once I start, I don't want to stop until we've talked it all out, and the car gets a little dicey for me come sunrise.  Unless you want to see if the trunk sleeps two comfortably?"

She didn't bother to answer him; she just slid out of the car, carefully avoiding his outstretched hand.  Head held high, she marched to the front door.

* * * * *

The cottage looked just like she remembered it from last fall, just the way she had seen it in all those guilty dreams that began in fire and ended in cold desolation.  Angel dropped their two bags by the front door before he closed it, and then he hurried over to the fireplace.

"It's still kind of cool out here," he said quickly, kneeling down in front of the hearth.  "I'll just get a fire going and..."

"No."   

Angel turned around on one knee, but before he could stand up she was beside him.  One small hand dropped down onto his shoulder, the fingers flexing in his knotted muscles.  

"Forget the fire," she commanded, her voice calm and soft.  "Forget the food I'm pretty sure we already forgot on the kitchen table at home.  Forget checking the rooms for extra blankets or bugs.  Just talk to me."

"It's not easy," he mumbled, keeping his eyes carefully aimed at the fireplace.

"Is it me?" Buffy asked desperately.  "Is it all this?"  She waved her hand around the room as Angel quickly looked up.  "The pressure of it or something?"

"What are you talking about?  How could it be you?"

Now it was she who avoided his eyes.  "The first time we made love I was...I didn't know anything.  And that made me nervous I wouldn't be...good...at it.  Not good enough, anyway."

He swiftly stood up and reached out to touch her cheek, cupping it gently in his big hand as he turned her face towards him.  "Buffy if this is about what I said that next day, you know it wasn't..."

"It wasn't you; I know.  And it's not really about that.  It's just...I didn't know anything that night except what you taught me.  And, well, you know from the last time we were here that the Life of Riley wasn't exactly about boldly going where no man has...umm, yeah, well, we'll just skip that analogy," she said hastily, seeing his inadvertent wince.  "The point is that now I know, well, more.  And I don't know if that bothers you, or will bother you, when we..." she took a deep breath, "when we make love, knowing where...or should I say from who...I learned...stuff."

Angel shook his head vehemently, his dark eyes holding her fast.  "No, it doesn't matter to me; it really, really doesn't."

"How can't it?" she whispered.

He sweetly stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb.  "When we made love that night, did you think of Darla?"

"Eww."  She wrinkled her nose and shuddered.  "No way."

"And neither did I.  She had nothing to do with us or that moment between us, even though she, umm," he coughed slightly in embarrassment, "Well, she taught me a lot."

"Then if it's not my rapid descent into sexual indiscrimination, what is it?  Tell me what has you so scared that in our first minutes being truly alone, and really together, in three years, you'd rather light a fire than talk to me."

His hand fell away from her face.

"It hasn't been three years since we were really together," Angel correctly her, his voice so soft she could barely hear it.  "By my count, it's been 843 days," he checked his watch, "eighteen hours and about seven minutes."

She counted as quickly as she could, hoping he wasn't expecting her to figure in leap years.   But the date she came up with made no sense.

"Okay, somebody's calculator needs the 'ADD' button unstuck. That would put us back to my freshman year of college.  I saw you like twice that whole year, for just long enough to get into a fight.  That's not the kind of alone time I meant."

"I know."  He reached out and gently clasped the hand that had slipped from his shoulder when he stood up.  "Come sit with me and I'll explain."

She let him lead her to the sofa, and together they sat down, sitting sideways so that they could face each other.  Angel continued to hold Buffy's hand, determined to not let go until she took away his choice.

"You know that I love you," he began.

* * * * *  
  


To Be Continued 


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer:  The line of dialogue bounded by // marks is a quote from "I Will Remember You."  The lyrics at the end are from "Heal Me," by Melissa Etheridge.  The characters, of course, belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox.

**Heal Me**

Part 11 

**By Gem**

_"You know that I love you." _

Angel's words fell like a veil between he and Buffy, leaving her alone and frightened on the other side.    

"Did you ever notice," she said quickly, "how three little words in front of the big 'three little words' suddenly makes something really good...really bad?"

"Buffy..."

She pretended not to hear the tender entreaty in his tone; she didn't want to think about it might foretell.  "I kind of noticed it because every time you've used that phrase, something I really didn't want to hear came next."

"I love you; okay?  I've always loved you, from the first moment I saw you."  Angel's tense faced relaxed a little from the memory.  She'd been so young back then.  In some ways they'd both been so young.  "Nothing could ever make me not love you.  It's me I'm not always too crazy about," he finished ruefully, returning to the present with mixed emotions.

"Tell me about it."

"I'm trying," he reminded her, trying to keep the tightness in his gut from showing in his voice.

"Oh, right. Sorry."  She bit her lip, holding back the nervous words that were bubbling up in her throat.

Angel tried to collect his thoughts, searching for an explanation that wouldn't sound like an excuse.  "I've never regretted falling in love with you, but there's been times I regretted you falling in love with me.  Because it hurt you," he continued quickly, holding up a hand to ward off her instinctive protest.  "Or because I knew it would hurt you later.  All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy and safe, and everything...even the stupid things...that I've done since I met you has been because I wanted to do what was best for you."

"I know that."  She caught his upraised hand in hers and brought it down to rest beside the other in her lap.  They were bound now; the connection running from one pair of joined hands to the other, completing a circuit nothing could breach.  

"I may not have always liked the decisions, Angel, but I never doubted you made them for my sake, not yours."

"Good.  Just...hold that thought for a few minutes, okay?"

Buffy frowned; her fear was easing slightly but curiosity was taking its place.  "Okay, well we know the why now, so what did you do and when did you do it?" 

"Do you remember coming to visit me at my old office a couple of years ago?  Not when Faith was here," he added before she had a chance to respond.  "The first time, after Thanksgiving."

"I remember."

Her words, uttered with such unhappy certainty, almost broke his heart.  

"No you don't.  What you remember of that day and what I remember...they're different.  Very different."

"Kind of a 'he said; she said' sort of deal?"   Somehow she wasn't surprised when Angel shook his head.

"More like a 'take one; take two' deal," he corrected.  "Or maybe a 'now you see it; now you don't' thing."

"See what?"

How...where...to begin?  What words would make the quickest, cleanest cut?  He'd thought of little else since they climbed in the car, but Angel still wasn't sure there was a right answer.

"Me breathing, for starters."  

"You breathe, Angel."  She nodded at his chest, now falling as he released pent-up air and tension.  "You just did.  Where's the headline in that?"

"But I don't breathe because I need to...except for that day.  Because that day...only that day...I was human."

"No you weren't."  She pushed the words out quickly, instinctively slamming the door on any other possibility.

"Yes I was.  You don't remember it, but I was."  He watched her face closely, trying to read what she was thinking from her shuttered hazel eyes.

"Human," she repeated, in an oddly flat tone.  "Human and breathing."

"That's right."  

_He was telling the truth; oh God, he was telling the truth.  A voice in her mind kept repeating the chant, trying to make the words seem real.  Trying to reshape her world to fit this new knowledge, even as she sought to distance herself from it._

"Bleeding too?  Oh wait; you already do that.  How about eat...no, you can do that too.  So you were breathing, huh?  For the first time in a few centuries, too."  She heard her voice from a distance, heard the mindless babble but was powerless to stop it.  She needed time, however it was purchased.  "How did you like it?  Bet you missed that nice clean 18th century air, huh?  Boy, LA in the twenty-first...no, it was still the twentieth, wasn't it...that's some air you can really sink your teeth into.  Except of course your teeth wouldn't be the same either because you were..."

"Human," he finished for her.  

"And this little newsflash slipped my memory because?"  Buffy's voice was rising, a fine edge of hysteria pushing it ever upwards despite her best efforts to maintain control.  "It seems like something fairly earth-shattering, at least in terms of us.  So why am I not remembering anything about that day but a quick, and let's not forget painful, chat in your office before I took the bus home and cried myself to sleep for a week?"

"Because the Oracles...representatives of the Powers That Be...took away your memories when they erased the day," he said gently.

"Erased?  They took a big old sponge and just wiped it away?  That's a cute trick, especially considering that I do remember that day.  I just don't remember you being human."

"You weren't supposed to."  Angel turned his fingers within her grasp so that he was now cradling her hand.  "They erased the day we had lived and then we relived it.  Only the second time around I changed something that changed...everything."

"What did you change?"  She was amazed at how calm she sounded, at least to her own ears.

"The Mohra demon.  The second time he came into the office I knew how to kill him before he bled on me."

"And the first time you didn't," Buffy said.  "So his special brand of monster goo turned you human.  Do you know how crazy that sounds?" she demanded.  

She'd changed her mind; it couldn't be true.  There was no way it could be true.

"Crazier than a vampire with a soul?" Angel shot back.  "Or climbing out of your own coffin three months after the funeral?  Crazier than hellmouths and giant demon snakes who run for public office and..."

"Okay, okay," she interrupted.  "Point taken.  Except about the demon snake politicians.  I don't think they're all that rare."

"Mohra demon blood has regenerative properties," he said wearily.  How could this all still hurt so much?  "Ask Giles; he'll tell you. The first time we didn't know how to kill it...that you had to stab it in the eye.  It took longer to find it, and in the process of fighting it, and I thought killing it, it bled on me.  And I turned human."

"And then turned not."

Human; he'd really been human.  For one day, a day she had no memory of.  Make that too many memories, but not the right ones.  

"That was the next day, after I realized how impossible it all was."

"Impossible!" she choked.  "Thanks for the ego boost."  Buffy yanked her hands out of Angel's cool grasp and crossed her arms over her chest.  Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she forced the next words out of her mouth.  "Go on."

He wanted to stop, to go back to before he listened to Cordelia's advice and opened his mouth.  But Buffy had been brave enough to share her mistakes with him, even though she was sure he'd reject her for them.  It was time for him to show the same amount of courage, and it was time, finally, to trust her completely with his far-from-perfect heart.

"After I was changed, after I was human, I found you.  On the pier.  It was..." a soft smile lit his face, "it was a warm, sunny afternoon, just like the first day I saw you.  And just like then, all I could see was you."

He was painting the scene in her head in soft and shining colors, but she refused to be seduced.  "Obviously not, if you also saw this whole impossibility angle."

Angel shook his head.  "Not at first.  At first, I thought it was our chance, a real chance to be together.  No curses or clauses to trip us up; no demons to endanger you.  It wasn't until the next day, after the Mohra had regenerated and I couldn't fight it by myself, that I realized there was one demon we still needed."  He slapped his hand against his chest, fingers curling inward as though to drag the monster forth for display.  "As much as I hate the demon inside of me, it makes me strong enough to help you fight.  Without it...I was a liability.  A danger to you."

The Riley defense, Buffy thought incredulously.  She'd always thought Angel was better than that, but obviously she was wrong.  What was it with men, or was it only the men she knew that had this weird thing about fighting their own battles?

"I don't agree," she said, each word issued as an individual challenge.

"No, you didn't," he agreed.  

"I didn't?"  His words sent up a red flag in her mind.  "There's more to this, isn't there?  It's not just about the missing memories, as though that isn't enough."

He'd thought the hard part was over.  He'd been wrong.

"After you had to rescue me from the Mohra, after you really killed it, I took a long walk."  He looked away.  If he saw the pain he was already causing her, saw it grow and multiply with each damning word from his mouth, he'd never make it through to the bitter end.  "I needed to think.  And my thinking led me back to the Oracles, to ask them for a trade."

"You traded," she said slowly, almost seeing the long-ago confrontation unfold before her mind's eye.  "You handed over your heartbeat...for mine."

He nodded.  "The Oracles said you would die."

"Everybody dies, Angel!  Slayers sooner than most."

"But not for me!"  His head snapped up, eyes blazing and face almost flushed with emotion.  "Not protecting me.  But the Oracles...they said if I stayed human...there was a great battle coming and you...no, forget that part."  Angel shook his head; the details behind his decision no longer mattered.  "They said we'd have to redo the day; they said it was the only way to undo my rebirth.  I knew...or at least I thought I knew...that the only way I could help you stay alive was if I had my powers back, and with them my demon.  And I knew...I thought...we couldn't be together anymore once that happened."

"I can't..." she pressed her hand over her mouth, "I can't breathe," she mumbled.  "I have to get some air.  I just...I need air."

"Buffy..."

"Just give me a minute," she begged.  "Please.  One minute."

His reflexes were as good as hers, or nearly so; he could have stopped her flight if he had thought it would help.  Instead Angel watched the love of his life slip out of the cottage, not even closing the door behind her in her haste.

* * * * *

Buffy took a few quick steps away from the cottage and then stopped and turned around.  She wasn't running, not this time, she promised herself.  She just needed a little time; just one minute to herself to start processing all that Angel had shared with her after three long years of keeping it his guilty secret.  If she couldn't get a handle on it, and soon, she was going to say something they would both regret.

She wasn't sure what was hardest to accept about the whole situation: what he'd done or the fact that he'd never told her about it until now.  He knew how hard it was for her to trust people, and yet he'd kept a huge secret from her without ever betraying even a hint of it.  How could she trust him after this?

And yet, he'd given up his life...no, more than that...he'd given up his death for her.  Buffy pressed her back to the cottage wall and slid down until she huddled on the ground, suddenly thinking about exactly what Angel had lost in addition to their shared future.  He was immortal again.  He'd chosen to spend eternity with a demon whispering in his ear because it would hurt him more to cause her harm.  How could she not trust a man who would make such a sweet, stupid sacrifice just for her?

And how could he trust her if she pushed him away the moment he shared a moment of his past?  

She might never know the full scope of Angelus' activities over the centuries, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.  She was sure, though, that Angel had to feel safe enough to share any part of his past, no matter how bad, without fear of rejection, or this relationship would never work.  This couldn't be about her anymore, or even about him.  It was about them now, and as a full partner in 'them,' she needed to get back inside and make him realize it too.

* * * * *

He was sitting right where she'd left him on the sofa; only his head moved when she came back into the cottage, his dark eyes following her every movement.

"Are you okay?" Angel asked hoarsely.

Buffy paused for a moment, searching for an honest answer that wouldn't wound either of them.

"About as good as you," she finally answered.  She glanced at the shuttered windows, thinking of all they held in, and all they shut out, out of Angel's life.  "It will be dawn in a few hours."

"I know."

She hesitantly sat down next to him, maintaining a small but definite distance between them.  There were still too many sharp edges to cut herself on.

"Did we...did we get to see the sunrise together?  Or did you...did they...change things back before then?"

"Buffy do you really want to go there?"  

He had known she would want details, once the first shock had passed.  He'd tried to prepare himself for the return to that place and time, to all those overwhelming emotions.  In the end, though, there was no way to soften the blow for either of them.

"I can tell you, but there's no way I can make it real for you.  And even if I could...it would only hurt worse."  He smiled grimly.  "Trust me; I know."

"I'm not big into pain, Angel, but I can't spend the rest of my life tip-toeing through every conversation to avoid hitting a nerve I don't know about.  Besides, it was my day too."

Angel gritted his teeth, knowing she was right but hating it too; hating himself once again for the pain he was about to cause her.

"After you killed the Mohra demon for good, we went back to my apartment.  I was hurt so you patched me up, and then...we went up on the roof.  To watch the sunrise."  His voice lowered to a barely audible rasp.  "And then, after the sun came up, I went out for a walk."  

Buffy tried to find some portion of these memories in her mind; even after all the mental rearranging the monks had done to accommodate Dawn's presence in her life, she still couldn't believe Angel's Oracles could have taken away ever vestige of that day.  But there was nothing.  No ghost of an image, no fragment of a conversation existed beyond what he had told her.

All that was left of that day were the shadows in Angel's eyes.

"We were happy that day, weren't we?"  She didn't know whether his answer mattered more for her or for him, but it mattered.  "We planned to stay together?  I mean really together?"

_// That time you just spent in the kitchen? That was enough time apart. //_

"Yeah, we did," he answered, trying to quiet the Ghost of Buffy Past in his head.  "And I wanted that life more than anything...except your life."

She swallowed a groan.  That darned 18th century knight in shining armor complex again; they were never going to be free of it.  Most of the time Angel kept his inner Sir Galahad reasonably under control, but every once in a while it got the best of him.  Literally.  And when it did, she alternated between wanting to swoon into his arms, and beat him over the head with his own breastplate until he cried "Susan B. Anthony!"

"I'm can take care of myself, you know.  I did it the whole time you were gone, and for quite a few fights before you decided to come out of the shadows."  Buffy leaned in closer, speaking very slowly and clearly for the benefit of the sexual revolution-impaired.  "You don't have to protect me."

He made an indistinct sound and turned his palms up in a shrug.  "Apparently at some point I'm supposed to.  Or maybe I'm just not supposed to be in the way when all hell breaks loose."

"How could you be in my way?"

Angel raised an eyebrow at her question.  "We both know how protective you are of me, Buffy.  And I don't have a problem with that...unless I have reason to believe it will get you killed."  He could see she still didn't understand, forcing him to drag to the surface a memory better left alone.  "The way it almost did the last time you saved me.  The night I...fed from you."

Her jaw dropped in astonishment.

"So if I hadn't made you drink my blood the night before graduation, you wouldn't have turned down your newfound pulse?"  Buffy slapped her palm to her forehead.  "Of course not; you'd already have been dead."

"I'm not trying to blame you for what you did," he said earnestly.  "You saved my life.  But that night taught me how far you would go to protect me, and that was when I still had vampiric strength on my side.  If I were human, would you really have been able to let me fight with you as an equal?"  Angel watched her eyes closely, looking for signs of guilty evasion.  "Or would you have always kept one eye turned towards me, watching over me, even when you needed to focus on your own safety?"

"I don't know," she snapped, not yet ready to admit any validity to his argument.  "I never got the chance to find out, did I?"

"No.  I didn't want you to have to face that choice, so I made it for you.  And for that part, I am sorry."

She could see the truth in his eyes; she knew his contrition was real.  There was more to this story than the past, though.

"Then I guess it's my turn for the 'Would you do it again?' bonus round."

Angel dropped his chin down to his chest, cradling his head between his hands.  "How can I answer that?  Everything is so different now."  He looked up again, locking his gaze on hers.  "Would I give up my life to protect you?  Without a second thought.  I can't change that, and I won't apologize for it."  His impassioned tone softened, his voice growing husky with emotion.  "But would I do it the same way, not telling you until after the deal had been sealed?  That I can't tell you, because I'm a different man now.  Back then, it seemed like the only way."

"You make me so mad."  She bit her lip and tried to swallow the tears rising in her throat.  This man made her cry more than any other being on Earth, which only made her want to cry the more.  

"It's not enough for you to leave town to save me from you; no, you even have to die for me so I can't die first.  Well I fooled you, didn't I?"  The tears started to fall freely, but she no longer cared.  "I went ahead and died anyway, and you weren't even here to rescue me.  You gave it up for nothing."

Angel didn't say anything; he couldn't.  He reached out and rested his hands tentatively on her shoulders; when she didn't pull away he gently drew her into his arms.  She submitted to the embrace, but she didn't relax; not at first.

"You gave it up for nothing," she repeated in a hollow voice.  "That's why...is that why you were so angry before?"  Buffy pulled back from Angel's comforting embrace and stared hard into his face, searching for answers in his brown eyes that words might not reveal.  "You wanted to be human for so long, and then you had it, and us, and you had to give it up for me.  And then I didn't even stick around long enough to do anything with the life that you saved."  She freed one hand to rub the tears from her cheeks; suddenly it seemed selfish to be crying for what _she had lost.  "You must have felt so...cheated."_

"In a way," he admitted, "but because the Powers owed you more than the life you got.  Buffy, the main reason I wanted to be human was for you.  Because you deserved a normal guy, not some twelve-stepping demon with about a million hang-ups."

"So you wanted to be human for my sake, but you didn't want to be human for my sake?"

"I admit, it's got sort of a Fred-ian circle to the logic, but that's about the size of it."  He took a deep breath, preparing for the worst.  "Can you...can you forgive me?  For that, and for not asking you about it before I made my decision?"

She didn't let anything show on her face; it wasn't time yet.

"And for not telling me for the last three years that this ever happened?"

"That too."

"Yes."

* * * * *

Angel stared at her in astonishment.  "Yes?  Did you just say..."

"Yes; I just said yes.  I'd say it in French, but you know how well I did in that class."  She reached out to him, curling her fingers so that the back of her warm fingers pressed lightly against his temple.  "I can forgive you, Angel.  Forgetting is going to take more time."

His face fell.  "Yeah, I can see that it would."

She felt guilty for the making him feel guilty; it gave her a weird flash of how it felt to be Angel on a daily basis.

"I know you've always been scared that someday I'll leave you for a 'normal' life and a 'normal' man."  She ran her hand quickly down his face from brow bone to throat.  "For a little while you were that normal guy, but you were willing to give it up to save me.  That's not something I'm going to easily forget."

"I can't believe you're not mad."

Buffy couldn't help smiling at his dazed tone.  "You weren't paying attention; I am mad.  Just like you're still mad that I jumped off of that tower." Her tone switched from teasing to gently persuasive.  "You were trying to protect me, and maybe, just maybe, protect yourself.  That's pretty much what went down with Dawn and I on that tower.  So we both did what we thought was the right thing for some of the wrong reasons."  She frowned.  "Or do I mean the wrong thing for the right reasons?"

"Maybe both."

"I know we're never gonna be able to forget the past...and we probably shouldn't even try.  But I don't want to be stuck there anymore."  She flashed him a flirtatious smile.  "It's getting boring."

He slid sideways on the sofa, edging closer to her, until his thigh pressed against hers.  

"I think maybe it's time to put the past to rest with more than words," he murmured, reaching up to catch a strand of her hair between his fingertips.  

"Wait," she said, capturing his hand as it started a downward journey along her throat.  "Before we...there aren't any more secrets, right?  No more little bombs waiting to drop on my head just when I start to feel secure?"

He thought immediately of his shansu.  He no longer feared telling her; if Buffy could forgive him for his lost humanity and the future that he'd abandoned, he knew she could forgive him for not telling her of the future that might never be.

But he was also fairly sure that if his shansu had not been realized in the last three years, the secret could wait another few hours.

"Nothing we need to talk about now," he said evasively, leaning in to brush his lips against the base of her throat.

"Angel," she protested, with less force than usual given her sudden scarcity of breath.  "A secret's a secret."

"Mmm, but this is a prophecy kind of secret," he mumbled against her skin.  "Trust me, it'll keep."

She twined her fingers in the curling dark hairs at the base of Angel's neck, her fingernails inadvertently scratching his pale flesh when his lips switched from caressing to sucking at the sensitive base of her throat.

"Good prophecy?" she asked, trying to hold on to the thread of the conversation.

"Mmm," was his only response, and could have been interpreted as more of an expression of passion than an affirmative answer.  Buffy chose to take it as both.  

Talking was nice, she reflected dreamily as she felt Angel's big cool hands slide beneath her top, but sometimes words were just too...wordy.

* * * * *

"Lorne, I'm getting a cramp.  Can't we just talk about this, you know, like grownups?" Cordelia begged.

"If you could talk like grownups, my little glow worm, we wouldn't have had to resort to such drastic measures in the first place."  Lorne peered over the edge of the large white cardboard square in his hands.  "It was either this or a sing-a-long, and I couldn't find enough Tanqueray Gin in the house to get me through that."

"But I'm going to get crushed," Dawn complained, her voice somewhat muffled by Fred's sleeve.

"Think of it as a bonding experience," Lorne advised.  "You all have to learn to share, and there's no time like the present."

"But I wasn't even fighting.  Much."

"Right hand on red," the demon said, ignoring the teenager's complaint with the ease of one who's heard it many times before.

"Hey, I was just pointing out my man Angel was getting a bad rep as a heartbreaker," Gunn protested.  He bent his elbow, trying to find a more comfortable position.  "And I was willing to try the sing-a-long idea as long as I didn't have to start it."

"Listening is a skill that grows with practice, children.  I said right hand on red."

"I wasn't even in the room," Wesley grumbled.  "I'm going along with this merely in the spirit of cooperation."  He gazed sourly at Cordelia over Willow's back.  "Unlike some people."  

"Can we just get on with this," Willow sighed, pulling her right leg up a little closer to her body so that her hip was now in Wesley's face.  "I'm really tired, and I'd like to get to bed sometime this century."  A moment later she abruptly shifted her leg again.  "Wesley, get your chin off my..."

"Willow," Fred hastily interrupted, "stop moving or you'll hit..."

"Fred!" Dawn shrieked, as Wesley arched his back to get away from Willow and then lost his balance.  He toppled over onto Willow, who bumped into Fred, who fell on Dawn.  Dawn then slid beneath Cordelia's precariously braced body, causing the older girl to slam into Gunn's chest and bring him down into the tumbled mass of arms and legs and protesting voices.

Loudly protesting voices.

"Uh, gang, you might want to keep it down or..." Lorne winced as the first wail wafted down the stairwell.  "Yeah, like I didn't know that was coming," he sighed.  "Oh well, it's my get.  You can all sort yourselves out while I'm seeing to the little nipper."  

He stood up and placed the Twister wheel on his chair to save his place.  "Maybe when I come back down we can switch to Pictionary.  Less potential for assault charges."

Cordelia waited until she could see Lorne round the top of the stairs, and until Dawn had gotten off of her lap, before she scrambled up from the multi-colored plastic mat and grabbed Willow's wrist.

"This was not my fault," Willow said quickly.  "Wesley's chin was right on my..."

"Believe it or not, I could actually care less where Wesley's chin, hands, or mind were; I just want to make a deal."

Willow's eyes narrowed as she shook off Cordelia's hand.  "What kind of deal?"

"Not so loud!"  Cordelia glanced anxiously at the stairs, but there was no sign of a demon, green or otherwise.  ""Call it a separate peace," she said quietly.

"I loved that book."  Fred smiled in wistful reverie.  "The end was so sad, though.  I've always wondered if it was really possible for Finny to..."

"Get to the point," Cordelia interrupted.  "Yeah, I used to wonder about that too; that guy just loved the sound of his own voice."  She shook off the memory with visible effort.  "Meanwhile, back in Kansas, I think Willow and I need to make a deal to stop playing offense."

"Cordelia Chase using sports metaphors?  I must be a good influence on you, girl."

Cordelia tossed her head at Gunn's comment.  "I was a cheerleader for three years, after all."

"Big surprise there," Fred murmured in his other ear.

"Cordy, if you have something to share with the class, could you just get it over with?"  Willow stretched her stiff arms out wide and turned her wrists in circles to get the blood flowing again.  "I'm tired and sore and..."

"Way cranky.  I noticed.  Look, I know I've been a little overly tonight; I'm not even sure where it's coming from."  She shivered and rubbed her arms.  "Something about being back in Sunnydale...seeing you again...it's like a gag reflex."

"And this was supposed to convince me to make a deal how?" Willow asked doubtfully.

Cordelia forced herself to take a deep, cleansing breath.  She had to stay calm, for the greater good, and for her greater sanity.  She'd lived through the Buffy Brood-a-thon one too many times; there was no way she was going to let Angel screw things up this time, even if it meant putting on the pompoms for Team Slayer.

"All I'm saying is that if you back off on the Saint Buffy martyred on the altar of love..."

"I never said she was a saint."

"I'll back off on the arch-Angel slain by the evil temptress.  Not that she's such a wiz in the temptress department, but..."

"Don't blow it now, Cordy," Gunn cautioned.  "I think you're on to something."

"...but hey, for Angel she's like catnip."  Cordelia flashed Willow a bright smile, hoping to distract the witch from her close brush with an insult.  "The point is that I want him to be happy, and for some strange reason Buffy makes him happier than anyone else does."  She shrugged at the mystery.  "We've seen the headstones to prove it."

"I don't want Angel to be unhappy," Willow said.  "But Buffy is my best friend and...and her happiness matters just a little bit more to me than his," she finished stoutly.

"And being with Angel makes her as happy as a day without meds can be for her," Cordelia assured her.  "Sure she cries a lot around him, but honestly, how into a guy can you be if you're not willing to let your eyes get a little puffy over him?"

"So you're saying we should make nice for their sakes?" Willow asked, slowly feeling her way through the compromise.  "Try to become friends?"

"Friends?" Cordelia repeated dubiously.  "Umm, not exactly.  We," she waved her hand to indicate the group at large, "will stop saying nasty things about the captain of the opposing team; that's a gimme.  The rest...well, we'll work on it when Romeo and Juliet are out slaying...or whatever they really do on those long patrols."  She smiled brightly, the way she did when Angel asked if his hair looked all right.  "We don't have to become one big happy family all at once.  There are families and then there are families."

"You mean you and I aren't going to stop with the little digs and snipes and sneers that have warmed my heart all these years?"

"Someday.  Maybe."  She smiled again, this time with something resembling respect shining in her eyes.  "Maybe not."

Willow thought about it for a moment.  "I can live with that."

"Well thank heavens that's resolved," Wesley exclaimed.  "I have no idea what this 'Pictionary' thing is, but I'm getting a most unpleasant vision of hurling ice picks at innocent birds in their nests."

Cordelia stared at him as though he were a Gnoshen demon without an exoskeleton.  "What exactly do English people do at parties anyway?  I know it can't all be about the food; I've tried some of it."

"We have heard of party games before, Cordelia."  Wesley straightened his aching spine, trying to suppress a grunt of pain.  "I happen to be very good at Shut-the-Box, I'll have you know."

"Oh, I'll bet that's a crowd-pleaser."  She rolled her eyes.

Explaining the game to her would only take up more of the time he might be sleeping; for once Wesley didn't feel the effort was worth the inevitable outcome.  Even when Cordelia lost an argument, she won.

"It is not my fault that Buffy chooses to collect games requiring physical agility rather than mental," he surrendered with a sigh.

"I'm not even going to say it; it's just too easy."

"Plus it's not allowed," Dawn warned her darkly.  "You just made a pact, remember?"

Willow patted Dawn on the back.  "Give Cordelia some time, Dawnie.  Some are born to niceness and others have it thrust upon them by empath demons."

"Hey, we all appreciate Lorne's opinion, but he knows enough to keep his thrusting to himself."  Cordelia frowned, catching a glimpse of Dawn's smirk.  "Wait, that didn't come out right."

* * * * *

From the landing, Lorne listened to the swirl of competing voices as he rhythmically patted Connor on the back.

"Don't worry, little man; I'll get them straightened out eventually."  With a martyred sigh, he began to descend the staircase.  "At least by the time you graduate to the big table at Thanksgiving."

A demon's work was never done.

* * * * *

"Human?"  Buffy's arms tightened around Angel's chest.  "Again?"

"That's right," he murmured into her hair.  "Wesley finally figured out I had to be alive first in order to die."

She tilted her head to peer up at him, unintentionally digging her chin into his ribcage.  "Not wild about that last part."

"Immortality is a lot less fun than it sounds.  Magazine subscriptions pile up, you eventually end up on every tele-marketer's list in the world, and people keep trying to sell you life insurance because it will never pay out."  He cupped her cheek with one hand, gently shifting her chin to a less painful spot on his chest.  "But you do know there's no guarantee this shansu will ever happen, right?  There were a lot of battles and apocalypse hurdles to jump through first; there's no telling if I'll..."

"Hush," she scolded tenderly, pressing her fingers over his lips.  "You don't like me to talk about dying, and I can't say it gives me a happy to hear you thinking about it either."

He kissed her fingers before he pulled her hand away from his mouth.  "I just want you to realize this is only a maybe, prophecy or no prophecy."

"Is that why you didn't tell me before now?"

He looked carefully into her eyes, the dim light in the bedroom fortunately no impediment to his vision.  To his relief, it seemed her question sprang more from curiosity than hurt.  

"That's why," he agreed.  "I wanted to; you were the first person I thought of when Wes told me.  But it wasn't long after we had that fight, the big one, and I...I didn't feel like I had the right to come running back to you on the off chance that someday I might be able to offer you the life that he...that Riley could."

She smiled ruefully at the mention of her former boyfriend's name.  "Am I supposed to be sorry that you couldn't?"

"I was."

"I know."  She dipped her head and reverently pressed her lips to the spot where her chin had left a red mark on his pale skin.  "And I also know that this isn't a done deal.  What I need to be sure of is what happens if it does."

His brows knit together in confusion.  "Well...my heart will start beating, I'll start to breathe, and I probably better start working out or give up cookie dough fudge mint chip ice cream." 

She wondered for a moment why he'd chosen that particular flavor of ice cream, a longtime favorite of hers, as it happened.  But there were other, more important things to wonder about.

"And do you stay with me or leave me because you think I love you too much for my own good?"

Angel stared at her in shock.  "Buffy, I'm not going anywhere.  This is forever; I swear it."

"You've said that before."  She remembered the night, the stars, the sweet words; all hers for a few brief weeks before the world came crashing down around her.  "You promised you'd never leave me, and then you did."

He placed his hands on either side of her face.  "And I kept coming back.  I had to because I belong with you.  I don't know why, because I don't deserve you after all I've done...but there it is."

"And there it was after the Mohra demon, but you gave it up," she pointed out.  

She wanted to trust him; she did trust him, mostly.  But there was always that small worm of fear in each of them that said something so deep and so strong as the love they shared couldn't really exist outside of storybooks.

"Things have changed.  I've changed.  You're talking to a guy who's spent the last three years fighting side by side with everyday, ordinary human beings; it's taught me they're a lot stronger and smarter and...just more amazing than I gave them credit for."

"You better be talking about Gunn," she warned him.

"Buffy, the Mohra demon was an accident; when I went to ask the Oracles about it, before I found you on the pier, even they were surprised.  But the prophecy, when...if...it happens, I'll be what I'm supposed to be."  He lifted his hand to run his shaking fingers through her silken hair.  "I'm not saying I won't fight like hell to keep you safe, but at least I'll know the world is going according to plan."

"That'll be the day."

"It may never be that day," he reminded her.

"But that's not fair," she complained.  "The prophecy said...fair."  Abruptly she twisted out of his arms and sat bolt upright in the bed.  "Fair.  When I came into bedroom Cordelia was saying something wasn't fair."  She curled her legs up to her body and wrapped her arms around them.  "Does she remember that day or did you tell her about it?"

"Neither one."  He sat up beside her, resting a light hand on her stiff shoulder.  "I told Doyle...you remember my friend Doyle?"  At her slow nod, he continued, "I had to tell someone; I'm not quite as brave as you think I am, sucking it all in for the greater good.  I needed someone else to know so it wouldn't seem like such a dream.  I just found out tonight that he had told Cordy."

Angel could feel her muscles instantly relax beneath his hand; he even felt the slightest bubble of a chuckle working its way out of her as she said, "Okay, I guess I won't have to kill her.  Yet."

He wondered briefly if he should mention the slight hitch with her attitude towards Cordelia, but decided to put the moment of truth off for just a few more minutes.  There were more important things to be said.

"I hope someday you'll believe how much I love you; no one comes before that."  He laid both hands on her shoulders and kneaded his strong fingers into her muscles.  "I know I've dumped a lot on you tonight, and I know it's going to take a while for you to work through it all."

"For us to work through it," she corrected him, looking over her shoulder to fix him in her stern gaze.  

"For us," he agreed with a small smile.  "But you said no more secrets, so I'm laying my cards on the table.  Now it's all in the dealing."

"Oh goody; my favorite part."

"We'll be okay this time; I've got a good feeling."  Angel thought about his words for a moment.  "I really do, you know.  It's been so long I'd almost forgotten what a good feeling feels like, but it's coming back to me."

She wanted to be mad at him, or at least have a little mad left to save for when he wasn't naked in the bed beside her.  But that smile on his face, the smile that used to be so rare, left her weak in the knees and floundering for righteous indignation.  They'd already wasted so much time.

"I didn't think we'd be like together this morning," she murmured, turning around to push him back down onto the bed.  She draped herself along the length of his body and began pressing kisses along his jaw as she talked.  "I thought for sure I'd be waking up alone for the next week, but this is so much...much...better."

Angel nuzzled her hair, and then pushed it out of the way to reach her throat.  "This is all I want," he agreed, mumbling into her warm skin.  "You.  Connor.  A life together...somewhere."

She pulled back slightly, looking down at him in surprise.  "I thought we'd settled on Sunnydale.  We talked the other night and..."

"We did," he said quickly, but his eyes didn't quite meet hers.  "It's just going to take a little while to think of it as home."  Angel's dark eyes shifted again, locking on to Buffy's as he stroked the line furrowing her brow with one cool finger.  "But I will, because you're there.  Wherever you are is my home."

"You say things like that and honestly expect me to ever let you go back to LA?"  Buffy dipped her head down and kissed him, seeking out his mouth this time.  It was several minutes later before she was able to continue her thought.  "I want to be with you 24/7 starting now, but...you were right.  There's no rush because it's forever this time.  So when you can call Sunnydale home without even thinking about it, I'll know we're ready for the next step."  She grinned.  "I kind of like having our own private little sign."

"Other than 'No Trespass'?" he teased.

"I plan on doing a whole lot of trespassing," she promised, "so you better get used to it."

Angel raised his head from the pillow to seal the deal with a kiss.  After a minute, he released her mouth, but continued to smooth his hands along her back, delighting in her shivers.

"As long as we're talking about getting used to things..." he began in a wheedling tone.

She groaned, but grudgingly murmured, "What?"

"Well, you do realize that because of the visions, that, umm, Cordy kind of comes as part of the package?"  He waited for a nervous moment in the dead silence before he rushed to fill it.  "Unless the Powers change something, when Connor and I move to Sunnydale, she'll have to come too."  He braced for the explosion.

"Excuse me?"

Buffy sounded perfectly calm, if politely confused, to Angel's ears, but in his experience this was not necessarily a good sign.  In the interests of peace in his time, however, he decided to take her reaction at face value.

"The Powers give her visions that guide me to the people I'm supposed to be helping, so wherever I'm living..."

"No, I meant: excuse me, you're mentioning Cordelia in our bed?"

He frowned.  "But you..."

God, how she loved that adorable little wrinkle on his forehead, the one that appeared whenever she confused him.  Buffy stretched up to press a kiss on the favored spot, prompting a slight groan from Angel as she slid along his body. 

"And by the way," she murmured against his forehead, "think yellow pages."

Angel wanted to explain it to her, so that Buffy would know it had nothing to do with Cordelia and everything to do with his mission.  Buffy, however, had begun a tactile adventure of her own and he was having a little trouble concentrating.

"It's not..."

"Important now," she finished for him.  "We have ages and ages to fight about Cordy and every other woman who throws herself at your feet."  She sighed in mock resignation.  "I'll end up having to hang pest strips around the bed to keep them away.  But that's still at least a day away."

His lips curved upwards again in a slow sweet smile as he slid his hand down her tousled blonde locks.  "There are no other women in the world.  There never were for me, not really."

"Good answer."  She dropped a quick approving kiss on his mouth.  "But I'm still buying the pest strips."

"Kinky, very kinky."

Just a week ago that comment would have made her blush and stammer as she tried to outrun memories best left in the dark corners of her mind.  But this morning, after all they had shared and endured to get to this morning, all it rated was a shrug.

"Welcome to the new Buffy.  Willing to try pretty much anything but live without you."

"That's not even an option."

Buffy burrowed her face in Angel's neck, relishing the feel of his skin warming at her touch.  She could feel his hands moving on her back again, and up her sides, making promises she had no doubt he would keep.  It was a moment to hold onto for the rest of her life.

With one tiny, tiny flaw.

"Are you absolutely sure we need Cordy?" she purred into his neck.  "Totally and completely su..."

"Buffy."

"Just checking," she sighed.

He wound his arms tightly around her small frame, savoring the warmth of her flesh and her heart as he made amends with a conciliatory kiss.

"I'm sorry about...you-know-who."  A roguish grin lit Angel's pale face.  "Still love me anyway?"

"Always." 

_Always._  The word had long been their private pledge to each other, but the sweet fervor in Buffy's whispered reply this morning made it sound more like a challenge to Fate, or the Powers.  Even if his own heart hadn't echoed hers, Angel wouldn't have dared disagree, and he pitied anyone who did.

"Just checking."

* * * * *

_Heal me lift me_

_Take me to the other side_

_I'll take what I've earned_

_These lessons I've learned_

_I'm ready for the ride_

* * * * *

The End 


End file.
